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FRONTISPIECE 


See page 12 






BY 

MRS. .JULIA McNAIR WRIGHT. 

> < 

AUTHOR OF “almost A NUN,” “GOLDEN LIBRARY,” 
“OUK CHATHAM STREET UNCLE,” ETC. 



BOSTON: 


PUBLISHED BY HEJfBT HOYT. 

9 CORNIIILL. 

Cl 



Hiitere<i according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
HKNRY HOYT, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


/z., 


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CHAPTER I. 

Introduction of John to the Demijohn, - - - - 9 

CHAPTER H. 

John is not afraid of the Demijohn, - - - - 53 

CHAPTER HI. 

Friendship of John for the Demijohn, - - - - 95 

CHAPTER IV. 

John is as strong as the Demijohn, - - - - - 137 

CHAPTER V. 

John wanes before the Demijohn, ----- 179 
CHAPTER VI. 

As much Demijohn as John can carry, - - - _ 219 

CHAPTER VH. 

John becomes one-half a John, ------ 263 

CHAPTER VHI. 

As much Demijohn as John can stand with, - - - 297 

CBAPTER IX.' 

John down imder the Demijohn, ----- 343 
CHAPTER X. 

Where the Demijohn sent John. - . - _ . 331 




CHAPTER I. 




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OEAPTER L 




) H N came 
into the hall 
with three 
feathers in 
his hand — 
Nick, the 
hired boy, 
had stolen 
them from 
the rooster’s 
tail. The 
feathers in- 
spired John with an idea. John, to use his 


10 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


own description of himself, “ was a boy in 
petti-skirts ; ” he had not yet attained the 
halcyon age of five years, the period of small 
trousers and dawning manhood ! He took 
his Scotch cap from the rack and put in the 
tail feathers, all awry ; he took his father’s 
cane for a horse, and went out the front 
door, intent on a peregrination of the gravel 
walks. It was June, warm, sunny, flowery, 
fragrant. John was inspired by the beauty 
of the occasion, — a beauty he was too juvenile 
to appreciate. Agatha appreciated it — she 
was John’s half-sister, a damsel of sixteen, 
and sat in the bay window of the sitting 
room, sewing ; the window was open, and, as 
the soft-breathing wind carried off the blos- 
soms of the flowering-almond, now come to 
their decadence, it floated the pink and white 
shower to her feet. 

Agatha was disposed to be poetical ; she 
thought in rhymes and numbers of the glow- 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


11 


ing beauty all about her : she was also 
disposed to be practical, and she was darning 
stockings ; and on the ehair before her were 
her own finished hose, folded up in the most 
approved fashion, and she was now busy 
with the gay striped cotton affairs, whose 
office it was to decorate John’s plump legs. 
Agatha’s work-basket was in perfect order : 
in the various pockets were her different kinds 
of work; there was a shuttle of tatting, a 
roll of cambric embroidery partly finished, 
a web of knit lace, and a kerchief ready 
for hemming. As she sat at her housewifely 
task, her eyes cast down on her work, her 
rounded cheek pink with youth and health, 
and her silken hair smoothly banded about 
her head, she was pretty, womanly, winning. 

John, having made nearly one circuit of 
the family mansion, stopped in front of the 
bay window. 

Good morning. Miss Stafford ! hope you’re 
well ! ” 


12 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“ And what fine gentleman is this ? ” asked 
Agatha, intent on darning basket-stitch. 

“Tm Doctor Hathway.” 

“ Oh, but I never saw Doctor Hathway with 
feathers in his hat,” said Agatha. Aren’t 
you Ralph Curtis, out on training day?” 

“No: I’m Doctor, on my horse,” said 
John : “ only I thought I’d like to be better 
looking than he is ; so I put in the feathers.” 

“That was a grand idea,” said Agatha, 
looking up ; “ the old doctor certainly would 
be improved by more beauty — John ! I be- 
lieve you’ve been trampling on my flower- 
beds ! ” 

“I never!” asseverated John. 

“ Be sure you don’t then,” said > 

That one upward look altered her whole face ; 
she was striking rather than pretty, with a 
will of her own, evidently, and a mine of 
reserved strength to be used upon necessity. 

John cantered off; his feet rang once, 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


13 


twice, before the bay window ; then he came 
no more — John had found other entertain- 
ment. In fact, he had passed the store-room. 
The cook, having been there for flour, had 
left the door open, from a habit seemingly 
inherent in the maid-servant race. The cool 
stone floor, the dim light, attracted John, 
and he stole in. 

There was the sugar-barrel; but, as John’s 
nose barely reached its rim, he could bring 
no plunder up from its luscious depths ; 
there were flour-barrel, soap-box, meal-chest — 
he cared for none of these things. Lo a box 
of raisins, and little pots of jelly, and jars of 
cinnamon and clove ; but high up out of the 
small intruder’s reach. There was the cake- 
can, but the hasp hurt his fingers. John 
knew an appeal to any of the powers that 
were in the establishment, would bring him 
something from that can. He might have 
gone his way in peace ; but just before him 


14 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


stood a huge wicker-basket, curiously shaped 
like a bottle. It had a handle, was crested 
at the neck with a rim of dark-green glass, 
and had a big, dark, delightful looking cork. 
John tugged the cork out : it was wet, as if 
the basket-bottle were full ; and,' when John 
put the cork to his nose, it was cold, and did 
not smell at all amiss. 

“Hoh!” said John, dropping the cork, 
and, pushing his finger as far down into the 
bottle as possible, brought it up dripping, 
ready to go into his mouth. 

He did not really like the taste of the 
newly discovered liquid ; indeed he made a 
fearful face over it : but the present per^ 
formance was quite new, and so deliciously 
sly, that the ‘‘ stolen waters ” were pleasant 
enough for him to try them again and again ; 
and he became so intent that he did not 
hear an approaching step. That step was 
Agatha’s. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


15 


To Agatha sewing had come faint odors 
as from Araby the blest, — spicy whiffs of 
nutmeg, mace, and allspice ; hints of lemon 
and vanilla ; and a breath of coolness, as 
from cellar or storeroom. 

Agatha, alert for the good of the household, 
organized an exploring expedition, and dis- 
covered John and the demijohn. 

% 

Agatha put the cork in the rim of the green 
glass with some violence, and saying, “ Shame, 
shame, bad boy ! ” administered several slaps 
to John, which caused him to run off scream- 
ing, leaving the discarded cane for Agatha to 
put up. John had meant to fly with his 
grievances to Nick, the boy ; but, on his way, 
he overtook a bush of green gooseberries, 
and, after that, was beguiled into the barn 
by the sunlight streaming on' the floor, the 
tempting softness of the mow, and the bustle 
and clucking of the fowls. In ten minutes 
his misadventure with Agatha was forgotten. 


16 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Meanwhile Agatha looked indignation at 
the demijohn. “ How I hate you ! ” she said, 
giving it a push with the toe of her slipper. 
“ If I had my way, you wouldn’t be in the 
house.” Then she went back to her sewing ; 
but the current of her thoughts ran smoothly 
no longer : it was ruffled, and her fancies 
ceased flowing in rhythm. 

Sara, the chambermaid, came by the room 
with her duster. “ How is mother’s head 
now, Sara ? ” asked Agatha. 

“ She’s asleep,” replied Sara. 

“ Then she’s better. I’m glad of that,” 
said Agatha ; and, the stockings being finished 
and put away, she went out for a bouquet 
for the dinner-table. 

Agatha was really fond of her step-mother. 
The present Mrs. Stafford had come to the 
house when Agatha was ten years old. At 
that period Agatha was existing under the 
sway of a good-natured, old-fashioned, fussy. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


17 


housekeeper, who continually and ignorantly 
outraged the child’s sense of beauty and 
fitness. The housekeeper dressed Agatha in 
dai'k frocks, brown calico aprons, of an 
obsolete cut, long and plain pantalettes, and 
hideous sun-bonnets. Agatha liked to re- 
member how the new mother had won her 
everlasting gratitude by taking these matters 
in hand. How had she bought her a charm- 
ing cottage-bonnet, trimmed with rosebuds; 
how, under the fingers she loved to watch at 
the kindly task, had those odious pantalettes 
become of suitable length, and nice in tucks 
and edging! Had not the step-mother said 
that Agatha must wear to school nothing 
plainer than ruffled white aprons ? and from 
the first week of her advent until now, had 
not Agatha’s wardrobe hung full of pretty 
dresses? Nor was this the sum of Mrs. 
Stafford’s good deeds. When John made his 
appearance in the family, he had been very 


18 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


liberally presented to Agatha, and Agatha had 
named him, and had selected his coats and 
caps, and had sought out new styles of mak- 
ing his dresses, and had received his picture 
painted on ivory and set in a gold rim for a 
breashpin ; and a lock of his yellow hair 
twisted about a handsome ring, as another 
keepsake of the interesting little brother. 
Since her father’s second marriage, Agatha 
had kept her birthday, had known what 
Christmas was, had parties of her young 
friends to visit her, and owned a pony to 
ride. 

Agatha had strong affections, and her 
stepmother and new brother called them out 
to the full: she thought John the smartest, 
sweetest, handsomest child in these United 
States, and had fully resolved that she should 
one day see him in the presidential chair. 
Her tenderness might have been more drawn 
out to John, from the fact that thereafter 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


19 


the little ones that were born in the family 
drifted out of life with but a few hours’ 
experience of its bitter sweetness ; and, as 
there were small graves and smaller coffins 
in the “ Stafford lot” at the cemetery, Agatha 
and John grew up in the household together, 
only sister and brother. 

On the day when Agatha had slapped 
John on account of his new acquaintance 
in the store-room, Mrs. Stafford’s early head- 
ache had so far removed that she was able 
to come down to dinner. 

“I am glad to see that you are better,” 
said Mr. Stafford. 

I took some ‘ sling ’ and had a nap, and 
it cured me : it always does,” said the lady. 

She was a very pretty, fair, tastily dressed 
woman, one of the weaker sisters, evidently ; 
but those were days when the weaker sisters 
were in the ascendant : rum and other evils 
had not yet made it necessary to develop 
strong-minded women. 


20 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


When dessert arrived, Mr. Stafford tasted 
his pudding, tasted again, and looked inquiry 
at his wife. Mrs. Stafford took a disappro- 
bative spoonful of the dainty looking concoc- 
tion. 

“ What is wrong with the pudding ? ” 
asked Mr. Stafford. 

‘‘ I think it is a very good pudding,^’ said 
Agatha, smartly ; “ and it is a very expensive 
pudding : it took any amount of eggs, lemons, 
and loaf-sugar.” 

“ It is some of Agatha’s work,” said Mrs. 
Stafford, with a sigh of martyrdom, “ and 
she has left out what I always put in, — a 
glass of the best apple whiskey.” 

“Agatha,” said her father, passing his 
plate for a second instalment of the offend- 
ing dish, “when you undertake to make 
anything, you should forget none of the in- 
gredients.” 

“ I didn’t forget,” said Agatha. “ I left 
the whiskey out on purpose.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


21 


And why ? ” asked Mr. Stafford, regard- 
ing his daughter with a curious smile, while 
his wife sighed again. 

‘‘ Because,” said Agatha, “ I hate the stuff. 
It does more harm than good ; we use it, 
and so lead other people to abuse it. We 
ought all to be down on it.” 

Down on it is unladylike ; sounds like a 
boy,” said Mrs. Stafford, mildly. 

“We ought all to be down bn persisted 
Agatha, who gloried in being before her age 
in her opinions, “that we might discourage 
the wickedness that is increasing from the 
use of liquor.” 

“ The Bible,” said Mr. Stafford, laughing, 
“ is not down on the use of liquors. What 
does Wisdom cry aloud but — ‘ Come eat 
of my bread, and drink of the wine which 
I have mingled ’ ? What do you make of 
Wisdom’s invitation, Agatha?” 

“Mingled with water ^ I suppose,” retorted 


22 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Agatha. Wisdom was most likely wise 
enough to mingle in water for safety, while 
she kept the wine for fashion.’’ 

‘‘ It is the fashion,” said Mrs. Stafford, 
‘‘ and, if you act against it, you will be called 
singular.^’ 

“ I like to be called singular ; I positively 
enjoy it,” said Agatha, briskly. 

“Be as singular as you please,” said her 
father ; “ but not about my pudding. My 
depraved appetite demands the flavor of the 
apple whiskey.” 

“If I were grand potentate of these do- 
minions,” said Agatha, “ I would banish every 
drop of whiskey and distilled liquor.” 

“ It is a blessing to you,” said her father, 
“ that there was no such law forty years ago. 
Your grandfather made his fortune — this 
house and grounds, and my bank-stock, mind 
you — most of it out of a distillery ; and he 
was an office-bearer in the church, and died 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 23 

in all the odor of sanctity. What will you 
say to that?^^ 

“ Quote you a verse out of my Sunday- 
school lesson,” said Agatha. ‘ And the times 
of this ignorance God winked at ; but now 
commandeth all men everywhere to repent.’ ” 

“ What in the world are you doing with 
your pocket-book?” said Mr. Stafford, for 
Agatha had opened the article in question, 
and was sniffing at it suspiciously. 

“You told me where the money came from, 
and I am seeing if it smells of its base origin ; 
I think it does. I recommend fumigation: 
it has a flavor of whiskey, this pocket-book ; ” 
and she turned to the mantle, and, striking a 
match and lighting a twisted paper, she 
solemnly proceeded to smoke her pocket- 
book. 

“ How can you be so absurd, Agatha ? ” 
said Mrs. Stafford, while John shouted to 
see the writhing paper and slow wreaths of 
ascending smoke. 


24 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Mr. Stafford evinced no displeasure at this 
reflection on his ancestral money ; he was 
amused by Agatha. Domestic life solely 
with Mrs. Stafford might have been insipid : 
with Agatha there was always a tang of 
expectancy — a spicy flavor — that very likely 
was to Mr. Stafford more tolerable in his 
daughter than it would have been in his 
wife. 

After dinner, when Mrs. Stafford was seated 
in the parlor, and Agatha had entered that 
sanctum also, in all the glory of her afternoon 
toilet, Mrs. Stafford proceeded to favor the 
young lady with some matenal counsels. 
“ How can you say and think such nonsense 
about a little liquor, Agatha ? ‘ Every crea- 

ture of God is good, and nothing to be re- 
fused, if it be received with thanksgiving.’ ” 
I do not consider whiskey a creature of 
God : strong drink is a device of the devil.” 

“ Shame, Agatha ! ” gasped Mrs. Stafford. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


25 


“ I will receive the stufif with thanksgiving 
as it is in its original, God-designated con- 
dition, as intact in apples, rye, grapes, sugar- 
cane, corn, and so on ; but, as it is tortured 
out and compounded and vitiated by man, 
I abhor and rqject it.” 

“ On the same principle you will receive 
meat with thanksgiving as God made it in 
fat sheep and beeves,” said Mrs. Stafford ; 
“but not as disorganized and compounded 
by butcher and cook.” 

“ That is not a parallel case,” said Agatha. 
“What harm have beef and mutton cooked 
or uncooked ever done ? ” 

“ And what harm has whiskey ever done, 
used moderately ? It is of fine flavor for food, 
and is an admirable medicine,” persisted Mrs. 
Stafford. 

“ But how many do not use it in modera- 
tion, and so suffer from it!” said Agatha. 

“ I am not responsible for that,” said Mrs. 


26 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Stafford. ‘‘ Am I never to use my tongue, 
because my neighbor uses Jiis tongue for 
swearing ? 

“ But when we see what harm strong drink 
does — and think if it should work its ruin 
some day in our house ! ” began Agatha. 

“ Our house ! Nonsense, child. Why, I 
like the taste of liquor, — I detest beer or 
porter; but good brandy, whiskey, or cham- 
pagne, I really like — and how very ridiculous 
to suppose that, because I like the taste, and 
use it as occasion demands, I shall ever use 
it to my detriment, or that my family will 
either ! ” 

“But you know it is said the predilection 
of the mother becomes the passion of the 
child. If our John — ” 

“Our John! Why, Agatha Stafford, how 
can you say such a thing 1 ” 

“ I have good cause to think and say such 
things,” said Agatha. “Bid not my Uncle 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


27 


Archie die a drunkard ? and he had been one 
of the finest and most scholarly young men 
in New York ; and did not his mother die 
of a broken heart for him ? And did not 
my Aunt Lucy’s husband lead her a misera- 
ble life, and throw her with care and misery 
into a consumption, and finally break his own 
neck by falling down an open well when 
he was drunk? Mrs. Lawyer Hanson sits 
up until midnight for her rioting husband 
to come home; two of my Sunday school 
class have drunken fathers ; and, in fact, 
mother, 1 cannot think of one family of my 
acquaintance which, in some shape or other, 
rum has not touched.” 

“ Your mother’s family was unfortunate 
in that respect,” conceded Mrs. Stafford; 

but that is no reason you should have a 
mania about it. Young ladies should never 
be extreme in anything, Agatha ; it does not 
look well. Now, child, when are you going 
to begin your music again ? ” 


28 JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 

“ Never. I do not like music,” said Agatha 
the positive. 

“ Not like music ? Nonsense ! ” 

‘‘ I don’t,” said Agatha. “ I have no abil- 
ity to succeed in it, and I never like what 
I cannot do myself.” 

“ If you cannot play, what will you ever 
do in society ? ” said Mrs. Stafford. 

“ I’m going to learn to talk,” said Agatha, 
— “to talk agreeably, and disagreeably.” 

“ That last will be no accomplishment,” 
said her mother. 

“ If you talk disagreeably, people listen 
from curiosity to hear what ugly thing one 
will say next,” said Agatha, merrily. 

“ Willing to have snakes and . toads hop 
out of your mouth just to see people stare 
at them ! ” 

“ I saw that at the Whiskey Convention, 
Friday.” 

“ Whiskey Convention ! What in the 


world — ! ” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


29 


“ The Ladies’ Society, may it please you,” 
said Agatha, sweeping a courtesy. 

“ Shame on you, Agatha ! What a name 
for the Sewing Society ! ” 

“To hear them, you’d think they came 
together just to cry up the merits of King 
Whiskey. Listen, mother ; ” and Agatha, an 
admirable mimic, began changing her voice, 
and twisting her face to suit different speak- 
ers. “ Sairy’s baby has the colic so, I give 
it gin-sling ; it’s the best thing — hot and 
pretty strong ! ” 

“ Old Mrs. Krebb, true enough,” cried 
Mrs. Stafford, laughing. 

“ Peter’s got the rheumatism, and he uses 
salt and brandy ; it is better than any lini- 
ment.” 

“That’s Mrs. Biggs.” 

“ Amelia’s appetite is very poor. I give 
her egg and brandy every morning. If your 
Louisa’s side isn’t better, hot whiskey is an 


30 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


excellent bathe for it’— there’s Mrs. Harri- 
son. ‘ Uncle Hawthorn is taking rum and 
honey for his cough, and it helps him so 
much ’ — Mrs. Green. ‘ I don’t think I could 
live without rye whiskey and wormwood 
bitters every morning’ — Mrs. Sage. ‘I be- 
lieve rhubarb steeped in alcohol saved my 
Tommy’s life ’ — that’s Mrs. Lucy. I wont 
take you off, mother.” 

“You’ll never succeed in life if you get 
a hobby like this,” said Mrs. Stafford, amid 
her laughter. , 

One of Mrs. Stafford’s cardinal doctrines 
was that every young lady must succeed in 
life — i. e. marry early, to good position and 
property. A minor matter, which she some- 
times mentioned, was religion. She was her- 
self a church member, and had, thus far, 
during her life, maintained a respectable 
standing in the body of Christians to which 
she belonged. She went to church and to 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


31 


sewing society, gave to the regular contri- 
butions, and thought herself quite exemplary. 

It was Agatha’s vacation now, and she was 
at home almost constantly. One afternoon. 
Uncle Jerry came in to see them. Uncle 
Jerry was short and fat; indeed, he was 
bloated by liquor to an immensity. His head 
was bald, his small light eyes could hardly 
be seen in the general glow of his visage ; he 
was puffing now in the summer afternoon 
heat and exercise. He wore a white linen 
suit, a wide shirt collar, no necktie, and had 
white canvas slippers on his huge feet. He 
wiped his face several times on a blue silk 
kerchief, asked John for a fan, complimented 
Agatha and her mother on their appearance, 
said the garden looked like Paradise, thought 
he should go to Spitzbergen to spend the next 
summer, etc. 

“Won’t you have a glass of ice-water, 
Uncle Jerry?” said Mrs. Stafford. 


32 JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 

“ Ice-water ! no, thank you, it’s unhealthy ; 
but I will have something cool. Fannie, let’s 
have a glass of egg-nog.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Stafford, “ only I’m too 
lazy to make it.” 

“Agatha’ll make it for us: won’t you, 
Ag?” said Uncle Jerry. 

Agatha threw back her head, and stared 
stonily at Uncle Jerry. 

“ No : she won’t,” said Mrs. Stafford ; “ she 
is a perfect fanatic about such things, thinks 
a drop of liquor poisonous.” 

“ Pooh-oo-oo,” puffed Uncle Jerry. “ Well, 
I’ll make it, Agatha ; go get me the groceries 
necessary : won’t you ? ” 

Agatha still gazed unflinching. 

“ Don’t gaze at me so. You’d do to sit for 
the Sphinx. Am I the desert that thou, 0 
Sphinx art staring at? I’m as dry as a 
desert; that’s what I want the egg-nog for. 
Ho ! Sara.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


33 


Uncle Jerry yelled out these last words in 
a voice that caused Mrs. Stafford to put her 
fingers in her ears-; but he succeeded in 
bringing Sara from the kitchen. 

“Sara,” said Uncle Jerry, “bring me a 
cup of loaf sugar, a cup of good apple whis- 
key, a nutmeg, an egg, a spoon, a pitcher, 
some ice, and so forth. Sara, you know what 
is needful for making egg-nog, and there’s to 
buy you a new ribbon ; ” and he filliped a 
silver quarter at her across the table. Sara 
soon brought in a salver with the articles 
Uncle Jerry had demanded, and the toper 
began to prepare his treat. 

“ Ah, this will cool us off, nicely,” he 
said. 

“ Last winter you called for such things to 
keep you warm : now you want them to keep 
you cool,” said Agatha. 

“That’s the advantage of whiskey. Now, 
Ag, here’s a conundrum for you, a real 


34 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Scriptural one. Why is whiskey like the 
Apostle Paul? Give it up, eh? Well here 
goes an answer. ‘ Because it is all things to 
all men.’ Ha, ha.” 

“ That is poor enough to be worthy of its 
origin,” said Agatha. 

Uncle Jerry had finished his labors at the 
tray, and had ready two glasses over which 
the frothed egg rose roundly. 

“ That looks well and tastes well,” said he. 
“ Here, Paimy ; try this for a hot day. Ah, 
there’s John; come here, my lad, and have 
a sip. I’ll warrant you know what’s good.” 

“ It’s horrid, John ; don’t touch it,” said 
Agatha. 

“ Don’t put notions in the child’s head,” 
said his mother ; “ it won’t hurt him ; ” and 
John, looking first at his sister, and then at 
his old uncle, advanced slowly toward the 
proffered glass. Agatha sprang up, caught 
him in her arms, and saying, “ Come, John, 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


85 


I’m going to the store to buy peanut candy,” 
carried him ofiF. 

She’ll make a fool of that boy,” said 
Uncle Jerry, “if she goes on in that way.” 

“ I know it,” sighed Mrs. Stafford ; “ but 
she is so wilful.” 

“ It is positively wicked to act so,” said 
Uncle Jerry. “Every creature of God is 
good, and not to be despised, if it be re- 
ceived.” 

“ Oh, yes : I know that ; but it is no use 
to tell Agatha so,” interrupted Mrs. Stafford ; 
“ she always has an answer ready.” 

Agatha could not always carry her small 
brother off when he was in danger of pursu- 
ing his acquaintance with strong drink. For 
instance, November brought his fifth birthday, 
and the embryo man appeared at dinner with 
a new blue suit of trowsers and jacket, his 
hair curled in a crest atop his head, and a 
fine hemstitched ruffle about his neck. His 
father was highly delighted. 


36 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ Now we have a boy for certain,” he said ; 
and, when the mince-pie and apples came 
on the table, he bade Sara bring the decanter 
and glasses, that they might drink the health 
of the heir of the house. 

‘‘ Don’t give him any, father,” said Agatha, 
^s her father poured one of the slender 
glasses half full for Master John. 

‘‘ Agatha, I’m ashamed of your nonsense,” 
said Mr. Stafford, impatiently, and gave his 
wife and son each a glass. “ Here, daughter, 
drink your brother’s health, and lay by your 
foolishness.” 

“ In water, and may he never love any- 
thing stronger,” said Agatha. 

John took a big swallow from his glass, 
tears came into his eyes, he made a horrific 
face ; his father laughed. John took a 
second gulp. 

“ He’s a real little man,” said his mother. 

“It’s bad; isn’t it, John?” said Agatha. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


37 


‘‘ Yes,” nodded John. “ I can drink it, 
though,” he added, and drained the last drop 
that had been given him ; then, catching fast 
hold of his tingling nose, he said, ‘‘ It’s most 
awful funny stuff! ” 

Agatha ran up-stairs and cried. 

John was as cross as a little bear all the 
afternoon. 

At Mrs. Stafford’s table wine sauce was 
plenty; tipsy cake, wine syllabub, and wine 
puddings often appeared ; there was brandy 
in the mince pie, brandy cheese, and brandy 
peaches; and on Christmas, following roast 
pig and roast turkey, came a high dish of 
lemon punch. 

If John got cold, he had a cup of hot 
punch to sweat his cold off ; if his stout legs 
were full of growing pains, they were rubbed 
with hot whiskey ; if he ate nuts enough to 
make him uncomfortable, he had a swallow 
of burnt brandy ; and when he said an extra 


38 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


good lesson, he got a frosted sponge cake 
with a spoonful of wine jelly. 

In vain Agatha told him horrible tales 
of drunken fathers, who destroyed the peace 
of their families ; of little fair-faced boys, 
who grew to be wicked, tipsy men, and lay 
in gutters ; of sisters, who saw their brothers 
laid by rum in shameful graves ; of mothers, 
whose sons broke their hearts by being 
drunkards. 

“ Don’t you think I’ll ever do so, Agatha. 
I’ll be a doctor like Doctor Hathway ; and 
you and I’ll have splendid times — I never! 
Do I look like those bad folks ? ” 

‘‘ No ; not now ; but, never to be like them, 
never touch wine or whiskey.” 

“ Hoh ! why, they taste just as bad ; but 
I don’t care. I can take them right down, 
if the tears do come. Agatha, mother takes 
’em, and father takes ’em, and Uncle Jerry 
takes ’em, and they ain’t drunkards. You 
see, Agatha, if I ever am. No, sir ! ” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


39 


So time passed on. John grew to be a 
stout, handsome, lively boy ; he was the idol 
of the household. Agatha delighted in his 
progress in his studies, and in his active, 
ardent spirit ; he could shoot, fish, hunt, swim 
with the boldest; and boyish, sports over, 
he would sit, his hands clenched in his 
fair, thick curls, his elbows on the table, 
his eyes eagerly devouring some book of 
travels or adventure ; or equally eager in 
studying out some knotty example in arith- 
metic, or pondering deep facts of natural 
science. 

In these years Agatha had left school, 
matured into a brilliant woman; her father 
was proud of her; her mother a little in 
awe of her; and Agatha was indisputably 
the leading spirit of the handsome, sleepy, 
wealthy old town where they lived. 

Ralph Curtis came very often to Mr. 
Stafford’s. He brought Agatha books, choice 
plants; he went out with her on long, wild 


40 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


dashes on horseback, wherein Agatha taunted 
him with her faster riding, and came racing 
home all rosy with exercise and laughter, 
quarter of a mile ahead of her escort. If 
there was a lecture or a concert, there E-alph 
proudly accompanied Agatha ; and sometimes 
Agatha was gracious and sometimes she was 
distant; but father, mother, and John were 
all on the side of Ralph Curtis. 

“ I’m sure, Agatha,” said Mrs. Stafford, 
“you might be a little more condescending 
to Ralph. Don’t you like him ? ” 

“ Yes, a little,” admitted Agatha. 

“ But you might like him a great deal if 
you tried,” said her mother. 

“ But I am not sure of him,” said Agatha. 

“Not sure of him ! ” cried her mother, 
“ Why, he is devoted to you, if he might only 
say so.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t mean that at all,” said 
Agatha, flushing crimson. “ I meant that I 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


41 


am not sure of his moral character. I must 
be as sure of his strength and trust and 
worthiness, as I am of my own, before I like 
him,” and Agatha threw back her head 
proudly. She was satisfied with herself. 
Storms of trouble should yet show Agatha 
her weakness, and that in God alone is 
strength. 

Agatha had seen Ralph drink wine at 
parties, as did most other young men; she 
had seen him often take a social glass with 
her father ; moreover Uncle Jerry said he 
was a jolly young dog, with no nonsense about 
him ; and this most of all made Agatha sus- 
picious of him. 

Thus Agatha continued her calm course, 
apparently immovable, and untouched by 
common sublunary things ; reviewing in 
John's advancement her own earlier studies ; 
her firm hand grasping more and more the 
reins of power at her father’s house, as 


42 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


silently and unaccountably they were drop- 
ping from her mother’s hold; and Ralph 
Curtis had strong faith in good luck and 
time and perseverance, and came and came 
again, unasked and yet unhindered. 

One day, as John came bounding home 
from the “Academy,” he met Ralph Curtis 
coming out of a saloon. 

“ Ho, Ralph,” said John, and ran on. 

“Hullo, you John, come back!” cried 
Ralph. 

John returned, and Ralph, laying his 
hand confidentially on his shoulder, said, 
“ John, my lad, don’t you tell Agatha you 
met me coming out of that,” and he motioned 
to tlie saloon. 

“ Why not ? ” said John, with wide open 
eyes. 

“Oh, she don’t believe in such things, you 
know ; and I don’t want her saying all 
sorts of queer things when I come up there 
to-night.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


43 


“ I won’t tell her then,” said John, very 
kindly. 

“ Good for you. Step in here with me; 
I buy these traps once in a while,” said 
Ralph ; and he took John into a confectioner’s 
establishment. 

“ Half a pound of your best,” said he to 
the clerk. He did not wish to give John 
a parcel that might attract Agatha’s notice 
or questions. 

The clerk knowing Ralph’s taste, put up 
the required amount of brandy bottles,” 
small sugar bottles, each full of liquor. 

Ralph handed them over, without noticing, 
to John, who, being but eleven years old, was 
not above this style of bribe, or reward of 
merit. John went home styling Ralph “ a 
good fellow.” 

Now, of all things, John was not selfish ; 
and, when he found his sister stitching a 
collar for him, he thrust his hand into his 
ample pocket, and brought up some of the 


44 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


contents of his paper, saying, ‘‘ Have some 
candy, Agatha?” 

Agatha carelessly put it into her mouth. 
As soon as she discovered what manner of 
candy it was, she cried out, “ Where did you 
get that?” 

“ Ralph Curtis gave ’em to me,” said 
unwary John. 

“ Give them to me,” said his sister. 

John gave her some more. 

“All of them,” said Agatha, impatiently. 

“That’s asking too much of a fellow,” 
said John. “ If you want a whole lot, Ralph 
will give ’em to you, if you say so ; he’s 
coming up to-night.” 

Agatha felt tempted to treat John to a 
slap, as she had over the demijohn ; but the 
days of such doings were gone by : so she 
said, “ Don’t eat them, John dear ; they are 
full of brandy, and not fit for you.” 

“ I like ’em, good,” said John, putting two * 
in his mouth. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


45 


“ Give them to me, and I’ll buy you a 
pound of sugar-almonds.” 

But John was high spirited, and “ not tied 
to Ag’s apron-string,” he assured himself, as 
he refused the almonds, and went on eating 
brandy-bottles. At supper-time he could not 
eat, and said he had a headache. 

“ It seems to be an epidemic,” said his 
father ; “ your mother is laid up with one, 
too.” 

“ John has been eating poison, that Ralph 
Curtis gave him. I hope Ralph will come 
here to-night,” said Agatha, setting her 
teeth, and flashing from her eyes looks omi- 
nous of evil to her admirer. 

“ Poison ! ” cried John. “ Hear her talk ; 
just there, father ! ” and he drew his last 
three brandy-bottles from his pocket. 

Mr. Stafford took one, smacked his lips, 
and tried another. 

‘‘ How many of these things have you 


46 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


eaten ? he asked, looking curious and smil- 
ing at his son. 

“ I had half a pound,’’ said John ; “ and I 
gave her five or six, and she broke ’em up ; 
and here’s this one, all that’s left.” 

“ Half a pound ! Why, boy, you need not 
be a glutton. No wonder your head aches ; 
there’s sugar enough in half a pound of them 
to make you sick if you eat it too fast. 
Come now, I prescribe for your illness that 
you take a bath and get to bed. Another 
time don’t eat candy so greedily.” 

“ Sugar enough in them ! ” cried Agatha, 
as the door closed on her brother. “ There’s 
enough of the strongest kind of brandy in 
them to make him drunk.” 

‘‘ Don't be too hard on the child for eating 
a little candy,” said her father. 

After tea, Agatha went up-stairs. John 
had gone to bed, and was tossing about, 
groaning with headache. “ Poor boy,” sighed 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


47 


Agatha, as she stood in his door a moment ; 
then she went away. 

Tears rolled down John’s ruddy cheeks; 
he was sick, his mother was sick, Agatha 
was angry and had left him alone. But 
Agatha was soon back with a bowl of vinegar, 
a brush, and a soft cloth. She sat down 
on the side of the bed, and began to bathe 
John’s forehead, and dampen and brush his 
hot head. Under her gentle touch he became 
soothed. 

“I’m sorry I ate the things,” he said 
humbly. 

“ Never touch them again,” said Agatha. 
It is one of Satan’s ways to make boys 
drunkards.” 

“ I won’t be a drunkard,” said John. “ I 
don’t really like the taste of liquor; but I 
get it in so many ways, I’m sort of used to 
it. I’ll never get drunk, Agatha, — never.” 

He fell asleep. Agatha sat in painful 


48 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


reverie. Sara looked in. “ Miss Agatha, 
Mr. Curtis is in the parlor.” Agatha washed 
the vinegar from her hands, while down- 
stairs Mr. Stafford was saying, “ You’ll get it 
hot and heavy, Ralph, for giving John those 
brandy-bottles.” 

Sure enough, Agatha was distant and 
imperial indeed. “ How dare you give my 
brother such things ? ” 

“ Upon my word,” said Ralph, “ I did 
not know they were brandy-bottles. I never 
looked at what the clerk put up. I thought 
I’d treat the little chap to candy, and paid no 
heed to the kind. I’m sorry, Agatha, I am 
really ; but it is not my fault.” 

• So Agatha thought she had been a little 
hard on Ralph, and came down from her 
dignity in a tirade on liquor selling and 
temptations, while her father chuckled to see 
how she had ‘‘reckoned without her host.” 

So, we see from John’s first acquaintance 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


49 


with the demijohn, how he did not like the 
taste very much, but was continually tempted 
to trying it again; it was fumiy, and there 
were so many opportunities. 






CHAPTER II. 


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CHAPTER n. 


|(0lm not nftaut of tite gomiiolttt. 



in little bits. “ Father,” she 


1. STAF- 
FORD sat 
comfortably 
reading on 
the piazza. 
Agatha 
stood near 
him pulling 
leaves off a 
climbing 
rose, and 
tearing them 
said, ‘‘ I wish 


53 


54 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


you’d give orders that no more wine or 
whiskey should be brought into this house.” 

‘‘ What now, Agatha ? ” said Mr. Stafford, 
looking over his glasses. 

“ Do you know how often our demijohn 
goes to the store ? ” asked Agatha. 

‘‘ No,” said Mr. Stafford ; “ the grocer’s 
book will tell.” 

“ It goes pretty often,” said Agatha ; “ and 
there’s wine and brandy besides.” 

“ I hope the cook’s honest.” 

“ Yes : the cook is all right.” 

“ If you mean about John, Agatha, you 
need not worry over him. I presume I know 
how to bring up a boy. The Bible tells us 
‘stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten 
in secret is pleasant.’ I shan’t tempt him 
to secrecy by extra strictness. I’ve let him 
have a glass of wine on special occasions, 
or a taste of egg-nog or punch, that he 
may know the flavor and be done with it. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


55 


No one has ever seen me drink otherwise 
than as a gentleman. I hope you don’t be- 
long to one of these new-fangled temperance 
societies, Agatha.” 

“No, sir; but they are not new-fangled.” 

“ They never were heard of when I was 
a boy,” said Mr. Stafford. 

“ They are five hundred times older than 
you are,” said Agatha. 

“ Perhaps you ' are better posted in their 
history than I am,” remarked her father. 

“ The Nazarites were an ancient temper- 
ance society,” said Agatha, laughing: “they 
drank neither wine nor strong drink.” 

“ They also dispensed with a barber,” sug- 
gested her father. 

“ The Rechabites were another temperance 
society, which, for many hundred years, held 
their by-laws intact; indeed I have heard 
that they exist upon the desert yet. They 
must, as the Lord promised to continue them 
to the end of time.” 


56 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“ One of their peculiarities is not to live 
in houses,” said Mr. Stafford, “ which is not 
an example to he commended.” 

‘‘We have the record of a temperance 
society formed in Babylon, by Daniel and 
the three Hebrew children, who ‘purposed 
in their hearts that they would not defile 
themselves with the wine the king drank.’ ” 
“ j&itemperance is older than temperance,” 
laughed Mr. Stafford. “ Good old Noah had 
a drinking club of one, and kept up the 
bout until it laid him, metaphorically speak- 
ing, under the table.” 

“ And I feel convinced that after his sons, 
Shem and Japhet, had put him comfortably 
to bed, they went off and organized a tem- 
perance society,” said Agatha. She and her 
father had kept up their dialogue in a merry 
tone. 

“ Seriously,” said Mr. Stafford, “ it would 
break my heart to have John a drunkard ; 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


57 


and I don’t mean he shall be one. There’s 
Uncle Jerry coming in ; what an old FalstalF 
he is!” 

Uncle Jerry panted up to the piazza, and 
took the chair Agatha wheeled forward. 
Out of one poQket of his linen coat stuck 
a dark glass bottle, and from the other 
a little wicker-covered flask, with a silver 
cap screwed over the mouth. 

“ There’s a prime article,” observed Uncle 
Jerry, taking out the flask and handing it 
over to Mr. Stafford ; ‘‘ it is the thing to 
open one’s eyes.” 

“ Yours need something to open them wide 
enough to see the error of your ways,” said 
Agatha. 

Uncle Jerry tried to open wide at his 
niece his small eyes which were sunken be- 
hind his fat cheeks. ‘‘ My ways were very 
dusty coming here to-night,” he said, trying 
to lift one of his elephantine .feet for exhi- 


58 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


bition, but failing in the attempt. Mr. Staf- 
ford had put the flask to his lips, and now 
pulled it hastily away. 

“Why, Uncle Jerry, that’s liquid fire I 
I don’t see how a mortal man can drink 
it ! You must be tinned inside, at least, 
to stand such a decoction ! ” 

“Think so?” said Uncle Jerry, compla- 
cently. “ I never found the liquor that would 
tumble me over yet. Why, last night there 
were half a dozen chaps at the bar, telling 
how much they could stand. Says I, ‘I’ll 
wager I can 'lay you all down flat;’ and I 
did it, too, before twelve o’clock.” 

“You ought to be ashamed to own such 
a scandalous performance ! ” cried Agatha, 
while John, who had come up to the step 
and seated himself, listened to the tale with 
greedy ears. Uncle Jerry put back his flask 
in his coat and pulled out the bottle, then 
took a cork-screw from his vest pocket. — 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


59 


“ Try this,” he said ; ‘‘ that’s genuine Ma- 
deria, oldest kind, none of your make-believe 
stuff ; it’s worth its weight in gold. Can’t 
deceive my tongue — no, sir ! ” 

“ I should have thought a man’s tongue 
was for saying something witty or wise,” 
said Agatha ; “ not for tasting liquor. How 
many bare feet do you suppose trod out those 
grapes, and how much vile trash has been 
used to color and flavor it ? I’ve heard that 
old boots, properly cut up and stirred in, 
give a nice hue to wine.” 

“ After that speech, John,” said Uncle 
Jerry, “ I suppose you don’t want a tip of 
this nectar ? ” 

‘‘ No, he don’t,” said Mr. Stafford ; “ boys 
ought not to spoil their palates with liquor 
at all sorts of odd times.” 

‘‘Spoil it! Why, this will educate it — 
he’ll know how to tell a good article. There 
are men who make good livings just by being 


60 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


keen enough to be tasters of teas or liquors 
for large dealers.” 

“ John is not so devoid of brains that he 
will have to make his living by his palate,” 
said Agatha. ‘‘Come, John, let us go down 
to the bridge and fish.” 

John ran for the lines and basket, and 
went off with his sister. . On their way, they 
met their mother, who had been to make 
a call, and she turned about and went with 
them. There was a projecting beam on the 
bridge, that formed a comfortable seat for 
Mrs. Stafford, and she untied her bonnet- 
strings and gathered her lace shawl about 
her, watching the young people at their 
sport. 

Agatha tied the ribbons of her wide flat 

\ 

together, and hung it on her arm. She 
looked very beautiful in her graceful mus- 
lin dress, bending over the low side of the 
bridge, and watching her line as it floated 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


61 


off in the water. John, in his buff suit, 
sailor’s hat, with fishing basket slung over 
his shoulder, stood near his sister, the golden 
light of the lingering sunset falling over them, 
as good omen for their glad and undivided 
lives. They scarcely noticed when the crim- 
son and orange of the truant day had died 
beyond the hills ; for the full moonlight was 
about them in unclouded brightness, and their 
glad young voices chimed merrily to the 
music that ever fills a summer night. It 
was one of those peaceful scenes that fix 
themselves in memory, like fine old pictures, 
growing soft and mellow by time, and seen 
perchance full often in the growing future, 
through a mist of wistful tears. Under the 
moonlight the fishers came home. 

Agatha, as her brother’s joyous compan- 
ion, had thrown off a care that oppressed 
her. She had gone to the rose-draperied 
porch, in the sweetness of the early evening. 


62 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


to whisper her father of her fears ; but her 
heart had proved a traitor, and warnings had 
died in idle jests. Now, the whispers of 
coming ill filled her heart, and she could 
not sleep. The night grew late. The wind 
soughed about the house and garden, drearily. 
A storm was brooding. Agatha opened her 
windows and looked out. The bleakness of 
midnight slumbered on river and on sea. 
From the not distant coast she heard the 
low boom of the waves. Her mind travelled 
through the house. She could see John, in 
his sound, innocent slumbers ; her father, 
getting gray-haired, now sleeping, undream- 
ing of evil. Her heart grew a little hard 
as it hovered over her stepmother ; but there 
was the long kindness of the past to recall, 
and it softened her. 

The next morning was dull and stormy. 
Agatha went through the house, as usual, 
to see that all was in order, and what was 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


63 


needful to be done. All this was left to 
her now. The door of Mrs. Stafford’s dress- 
ing room was open ; there stood Mrs. Staf- 
ford. A glass, with lumps of sugar in it, 
was before her ; she poured in some brandy, 
added a lump of ice, and slowly stirred it 
with a spoon. Looking up, she saw Agatha. 
“ It is such a miserable day, I thought I 
would take something to raise my spirits,” 
she said, apologetically. 

Agatha, without answering, stood like an 
accusing spirit, in the doorway. 

I know you don’t like it ; but I really 
couldnH do without it.” 

Agatha’s reply was irrelevant. “ Mrs. 
Thompson says your new bonnet, with rose- 
colored strings, is horridly unbecoming. 

‘‘ She does ! ” cried Mrs. Stafford, drinking 
her brandy ; “ pink was always my favorite 
color, I looked so well in it.” 

“ You do not now,” said Agatha. 


64 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Mrs. Stafford turned to the . mirror, and 
held a knot of pink ribbon near her face. 

“I believe my skin is getting red and 
rough,” she exclaimed, impatiently. 

‘‘ I think it is the brandy, and such stuff, 
that does it ; and it makes you too fleshy. 
You used to be my beau-ideal of beauty.” 
And Agatha looked at her stepmother with 
a tender, sorrowful pity, as one looks at a 
grave where the grass has grown months 
enough for the poignancy of grief to pass 
away. 

“You could not expect me to retain the 
freshness of youth at my age,” said Mrs. 
Stafford. 

“ You might be handsomer now than ever, 
and you might be more cheerful — your 
spirits are so uneven.” 

“ That is just it,” said Mrs. Stafford ; “ I 
should be as blue as an indigo bag if I did 
not take a little brandy, now and then, to 
brighten me up.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


65 


“ And the egg and brandy, before break- 
fast ? ” 

I need that to strengthen me and give 
me an appetite.” 

Agatha sighed, and turned away. John 
had a little room for a workshop and mu- 
seum. Agatha heard him in there; but the 
door was fastened. 

“ Go away, Agatha,” cried John ; ‘‘ I don’t 
want you in here now.” 

After a while he came to her for scissors, 
needle and thread ; then he went down town, 
through the rain. Agatha wondered what 
he was about. He seemed very merry over 
it. A day or two after. Uncle Jerry came 
again. He was got up, as usual, with a 
flask in his coat pocket, a corkscrew in his 
vest pocket, and a little roll containing liquor 
dealer’s advertisements tucked away in his 
vest. One coat pocket held a parcel. John 
was at school. Uncle JeiTy took a queer 


66 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


looking object from the parcel. “Did any- 
body ever see this before?-” 

The object was a short bottle, ample in 
circumference ; it was sewed up in linen, 
and to it was attached a pair of short spindle 
legs and splay feet, and a pair of small 
arms ; the head and hands were neatly made 
of putty ; the hat, coat, and neck kerchief 
were a good copy of Uncle Jerry’s equip- 
ments; the pockets were plenty, and from 
each protruded a bottle ; there was a bottle 
in each hand, and a tiny corkscrew hanging 
to the watch-guard. It was evidently meant 
for Uncle Jerry, and to make the semblance 
closer it had been saturated in whiskey, and 
smelled strongly of that “ good creature.” 

“I found it hung to my door this morn- 
ing,” said Uncle Jerry ; “ and I believe that 
young dog John got it up.” 

“ I never saw it before,” said Agatha, 
though she also suspected John. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


67 


Mrs. Stafford looked uneasy. She eyed 
her son suspiciously for several days, and 
seemed not to want him near her. She took 
her morning egg and brandy in the store- 
room, and not at the breakfast-table. 

It was October. Agatha was pouring coffee 
for her father. ‘‘ I really think your mother 
ought to see the doctor,” he said ; “ she is 
getting so stout and flushed, and has so much 
headache. I’m afraid she is threatened with 
apoplexy.” 

Agatha made no reply. 

At noon Mrs. Stafford was in bed. Her 
husband said, at dinner, “ Agatha, I think 
Fanny is really quite sick. I shall send up 
Doctor Hathway.” 

“ There’s no need,” replied Agatha. 

‘‘ I shall send him up and free my mind,” 
said Mr. Stafford. “ Your mother’s remedies 
don’t seem to help her.” 

About three o’clock, the doctor came. 


68 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“ Your father sent me to see your mother, 
Miss Agatha.” 

“ She doesn’t need anything,” said Agatha, 
shortly. 

The doctor looked puzzled. 

“ Will you tell her I’m here ? ” 

‘‘ I dare say she’s asleep,” said Agatha, 
sewing diligently. 

“ I can step in, as your father desired it,” 
said the doctor. 

“ I don’t think you’d better.” 

The doctor looked annoyed and perplexed. 
Then he quietly left the room and went up- 
stairs. Agatha heard him knock at her 
mother’s door, then open it. 

She leaned her head on the table and 
cried childishly, sobs shaking her frame. 
After a while, the old doctor came down. 
He stood beside her, gently smoothing her 
brown hair in a fatherly, sympathizing way. 
All at once, by a strong effort, Agatha 




JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


69 


checked her emotion; she straightened her- 
self haughtily, brushed back the hair from 
her reddened forehead, and dashed the 
tears from her eyes. 

“ I went up to see your mother,’’ said the 
doctor, looking at the carpet, and becoming 
embarrassed. 

“ And you found her drunk ! ” cried 
Agatha, fiercely. 

“ I’m sorry to say,” began the doctor. 

Agatha darted from her ehair, went to 
the window, and stood with her back to the 
physician. 

“ I am your father’s old friend. I have 
known your mother since she first came here. 
Miss Agatha, had I not better step round 
here to-morrow, and have a plain talk with 
your mother ? ” 

Agatha answered never a word ; she was 
too much overcome with mortification. 

Mrs. Stafford had a cup of tea in her 


70 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


room. Next dav, she was sitting on the 
piazza, about ten o’clock, making a pretence 
of sewing, when Doctor Hathway’s carriage 
stopped at the gate, and the good man took 
a chair by her side. He talked some time, 
in a low, grave tone. Agatha, sitting in the 
parlor, arranging a case of shells, heard him, 
and her cheeks burned, and her heart ached. 

When the doctor was gone, Mrs. Stafford 
sat a long while with her handkerchief 
pressed to her eyes. Then Agatha heard 
her go through the hall, and into the store- 
room ; there followed a dripping sound for 
a moment ; then she went up-stairs, and 
Agatha, with a groan, went to shut the store- 
room door. Just as she expected, she found 
the dark rim of the demijohn wet, and the 
cork lying on the floor. 

In a few weeks Mrs. Stafford was ill 
again. 

‘‘ I spoke to Hathway about stepping round. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


71 


and he said, queer ly too, he did not think, he 
could do my wife any good,” said Mr. Stafford 
to his daughter. 

“ I don’t think he can,” said Agatha, fear- 
ing to say more. 

Cold December^ — the winds tossed the 
snow into low mounds — graves where the 
summer’s beauty lay dead and buried. 
Agatha felt as if all her pride, her buoyancy, 
her hope, lay dead and buried with the 
summer flowers. She did not like to go out ; 
people whispered things about her mother 
which she was not meant to hear ; there 
was the finger of scorn pointed at the Staf- 
ford family, she thought, and a cruel shame 
dwelt among them. She dreaded to have 
John go among his mates, and trembled, 
when he came rushing home, lest he should 
pour into her ear indignant accusations. 

It was coming Christmas. Agatha had 
made her mince pies, and her fruit cakes, 


72 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


had selected the fattest turkey from the 
strutting flock, and the whitest celery from 
its bleaching trench. She was busy on gifts 
for John. 

Her father had eaten but little dinner; 
had gone up-stairs and come down a time 
or two. He stood before her, resting his 
elbow on the mantel. Trouble lowered on 
his brow ; he could not meet his daughter’s 
eye. As for Agatha, she avoided looking at 
him. 

“ Agatha,” he faltered, “ do you know 
what is the matter with your mother?” 

Agatha worked away without answering. 

“ I believe she is intoxicated.” 

“Yes,” said Agatha. 

He tramped up and down the room mut- 
tering. 

“ She has no fault but one,” said Agatha ; 
“ think how lovely she used to be — ” 

“ I believe Doctor Hathway knows it,” 
roared her father. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


73 


“Perhaps if you charged her to touch no 
more liquor in any shape, this might all 
he done away.” 

“I believe everybody knows it,” shouted 
Mr. Stafford. ^ 

“ If she would promise you to abstain, 
all would be right.” 

“ What an example for her son ! ” cried 
the indignant man. “ Pm ashamed to meet 
the boy’s eye.” 

“ He does not know it,” said Agatha. 
“Not yet.” 

That was a dreary winter ; how often dur- 
ing those dark days did Agatha argue with 
her stepmother over her infatuation ; or use 
to her the tenderest entreaties. The girl was 
steadfast in her affections : the love that Mrs. 
Stafford had won years before was faithful 
now. Agatha could not despise or reject 
the erring one; but weeping over her fail- 
ings, and striving to hide her disgrace, mak- 


74 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


ing up for her domestic and social short-com- 
ings, Agatha stood between her stepmother 
and a condemning world. 

The history of Mrs. Stafford's downfall 
m!^ be strange ; but, alas, is far from un- 
paralleled. For some fourteen years she had 
used liquors upon her table to add piquancy 
or flavor to almost every meal ; they had 
been the remedies of all her ailments, and 
by degrees the fatal appetite had grown upon 
her until reason, honor, and decent shame 
were paralyzed, and she had become that 
most hideous object, — a drunken woman. 

One of the worst features in her case was 
that she could not be brought to see her 
errors. She asserted that she did not use 
liquors to excess ; she only took what was ab- 
solutely necessary to her physical well-being ; 
she denied ever being overcome by the stim- 
ulant; her heaviness, her stupor, her pains 
were offsprings of some other cause ; to the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


75 


illnesses whiskey had created, whiskey was 
made to administer; and in her own room, 
hiding from the anguished reproaches of 
husband and daughter, the self-destroyer 
mixed and drank her daily poison. 

Though never intoxicated outside of her 
own house, and indeed going out but little 
into a neighborhood that was now looking 
coldly upon her, the history of Mrs. Stafford’s 
failings crept abroad ; the scandal was on 
every tongue. Knowing this, Agatha waJ^ 
prepared for the public mortifications that 
must surely follow. 

It was on an April morning^ that, tis ^she 
was tending a row of hyacinth glasses set 
in the soft spring sunshine, she' saw entering 
the gate the pastor and officers of - their 
church. She knew their errand ; she hastened 
up-stairs. 

“ Sara, open the door for those gentlemen, 
and call my mother.” 


76 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Then she went to her room, in an 
agony ; but as the visit down stairs was pro- 
longed, she could not remain quiet. Nick, 
no longer hired boy, but hired man, was 
busy at some borders on the side of the 
house ; she went down to give instructions 
concerning her favorite flowers. Still the 
guests lingered. They were striving hard, 
with prayer and counsel, to bring the erring 
woman to a better mind. Tears ran down 
the pastor’s cheeks as she . obstinately de- 
nied all fault, and advocated her right to 
do as she pleased, and as was “ needful for 
her health.” 

Agatha saw her father approaching the 
garden ; she did not wish him to enter un- 
suspecting upon the conference in the par- 
lor. She hastened to warn him; his feet 
were on the porch steps ; there was a bustle 
in the hall, the discussion had ended; the 
door opened, the most reputable men of the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


7T 


town were facing Mr. Stafford in his door- 
way, and what had been their errand ! His 
head drooped. Agatha put her hand through 
her father’s arm, and, with flushing cheeks 
and form erect, stood before the visitors ; 
the old man should not bear his shame 

alone. What kind hearts then ached over 

that father and daughter ! 

John knew that there was some dark 

cloud over the household ; but what it was 
he could not tell. His father and sister 

carefully concealed from him his mother’s 
weakness ; no one outside was cruel enough 
to tell him of that drunken mother. People 
remembered too well the brightness and 
pleasantness of Mrs. Stafford’s early days, 
her hospitality, her charities, her friendly, 
neighborly ways, to triumph over her now. 
They missed her in the town ; every one felt 
their loss in that kindly woman’s lamentable 
wreck ; and even boys, apt to be so bitter 


78 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and so hard, caught the general tone, and 
uttered no taunt to the comrade whose lot 
was much more hard than theirs. 

Again it was June,, and the winds were 
drifting showers of almond petals to the bay 
window. Agatha sat there, as of yore ; she 
was older than in those days when her 
young dreams had fallen into rhymes that 
chimed with the summer sunshine and the 
summer flowers. Sorrow, rather than the 
fleeting years, had touched her ; yet, like 
goodly fruits, which mellow and mature un- 
der suns and storms, Agatha’s girlhood’s 
promise had ripened into a gracious woman- 
hood. 

Some one stood on the walk, close to the 
window, talking to her. It was not John, 
with feathered cap and borrowed cane, satchel 
on shoulder. John had gone off to school. 
It was Ralph Curtis ; he had waited long to 
speak his mind to Agatha, and now would 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


79 


wait no longer. Agatha had been cutting 
flowers for the mantel vases, and had them 
in her lap — white lilies folded into long, 
perfumed buds, and cypress and juniper with 
their sombre green. 

Agatha was speaking. “ It is idle to hush 
over this trouble, B-alph ; you know what 
misery has come to us. My father and John 
need my love and care ; I cannot desert 
them.” 

‘‘It is not,” said Ralph, “ that you should 
love them less, but me more.” 

Agatha laid a cluster of lilies on a branch 
of juniper, and twisted the white buds in 
and out among the green. She had made 
up her mind ; she looked steadily at Ralph. 

“ Trouble from liquor, Ralph, seems to be 
the heir-loom of our house. You know the 
history of my Uncle Archie, my grandmother, 
and my aunt ; you know that in our part 
of the cemetery very bitter ills lie buried, 


80 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and that one just as bitter is living among 
us now. I will never put my happiness in 
the keeping of one who is not thoroughly a 
temperance man. The example of the past 
shall suffice at least one generation.” 

Ralph crimsoned. “ I’m sorry you think so 
poorly of me, Agatha ; you know very well that 
liquor has never yet got the upper hands 
of me, and I only take it in moderation, 
and as a gentleman. Do you think me a 
sot ? However, I can go over to the fanatics 
and sign the pledge, if that will please you ; 
and you want me to sign away my liberty 
for you,” he added, pettishly. 

No,” said Agatha, “ I do not tell you 
to sign away your liberty for me^ because I 

am not willing to make a return in kind 

( 

to you. I am safest guiding my life my- 
self ; so let it be.” 

I don’t believe you know how to care 
for anybody ! ” cried Ralph. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


81 


‘‘ I know how to care for myself,” replied 
Agatha, calmly. “ I am strong, — strong 
enough for myself, and for my father, and 
John, when they need to lean on me for 
comfort. I can see the future full enough 
of cares that are not of my bringing ; I will 
not risk burdening it with any more.” 

“ I don’t think I should bring you extra 
care,” said Ralph. 

You have known for a good many years,” 
said Agatha, that I abominate liquors in 
every form; yet you always take them at 
parties, at your club, and even go into sa- 
loons with your friends. This may now be 
a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand ; yet, 
if I cared for you, it might grow into a storm 
that would deluge my life with tears.” 

“ You are not willing, then,” said Ralph, 
“ to make any sacrifice for those you love ? ” 
“ There is no wisdom,” replied Agatha, 
“ in loving just for the sake of making sac- 


82 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


rifices. My mind is made up, Ralph ; I have 
chosen a lot with father and with John.” 

Agatha had finished her bouquets. Her 
lilies, lying in jumper and cypress, were 
typing the sweetness of life set in its bitter 
cares ; and clustered under these were vio- 
lets, and the first opening rose-buds, — the 
good deeds that fringe the commonest life 
with beauty. 

That night, Agatha, for the first time, had 
to call Sara to help her get her mother to 
bed. Mrs. Stafford’s form had grown coarse 
and large. She lay heavily back in her 
chair, while her daughter and the maid took 
off* her day clothing. Agatha set her lips 
firmly together, and forced herself to finish 
her task with steady hands and dry eyes. 
Sara, long a servant in the house, cried freely. 
Left alone with the deep breathing sleeper, 
Agatha turned down the lamp, smoothed the 
bed clothes, set the room in order ; then she 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


83 


stood a moment by the foot of the bed. 
“There is one comfort,” she said to herself: 
“ I shall never have to go through these 
miseries and mortifications for a drunken 
husband.” Then she went to her own room. 
She had a habit of walking up and down 
with her arms folded behind her. There was 
a balcony before her room, and the window 
opened on it to the floor ; she went out, and 
slowly paced its length again and again in 
the clear June starlight. She had said she 
was strong : was she strong endligh to walk 
unhelped the rough places of this world ? 
Her father was growing old and broken ; 
John might fall as his mother had fallen ; 
the pleasant friend of her youth was hope- 
lessly degraded, lying in a drunkard’s sleep, 
mother only in name. Agatha knew that she 
was not sufficient for these things : she 
yearned for something higher and better ; 
she longed for a comforter and counsellor 


84 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


that could never fail, never know weakness ; 
she remembered how in the world’s first 
history Enoch had walked with God. Such a 
walk must be hers if she would run and not 
be weary, walk and not faint. She had 
chosen, like a good woman of old, to dwell 
among her own people, to abide by the for- 
tunes of her earliest home ; but there God 
would be, if she called upon him. He had 
promised to dwell with his servants, and be 
their God. Then and there, helped from on 
high, did i^atha Stafford set her feet in the 
narrow way; a life of conflict was lying 
unseen before her, the din of battle had yet 
scarce begun, and the good All-father, seeing 
the end from the beginnihg, taught her to 
start right, girded with armor of proof, the 
whole armor of God; and much did she 
need it in all the darkening days. In such 
a life as hers, without this heavenly grace, 
her heart would have turned to dead ashes, 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


85 


the sweetness of her being changed to gall, 
and, instead of looking out on the world with 
kind and pit3dng eyes, she would have grown 
a harsh misanthrope at cross purposes with 
all her race. 

Agatha’s was an earnest nature. When 
she chose God for her portion, gave herself 
to him, she did it unreservedly, with intensity 
of purpose : henceforth she was not to live 
unto herself; and being before her grew 
deeper and broader, so it took hold on the 
fulness of eternity. ^ 

With this self-dedication came a little 
gleam of hope. The religion that could be 
so much to her, must be somethings to her 
mother, who had^o long professed ij;, — by 
that she could form to her some new appeals ; 
then she remembered' how the pastor and 
the officers of the church had not failed" 
in faithfulness, and had come to reason with 
their wanderer, more tlian once or twice. 


86 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


However, she knew she could pray, and she 
hoped much from prayer. Well she might; 
and yet prayer does not always check the 
heedless persistent feet whose steps take 
hold on death. 

Before long occurred what, with intense 
mortification, Mr. Stafford and Agatha had 
expected. Mrs. Stafford was publicly cut 
off from communion with the church, until 
such time as by repentance, confession, and 
amendment, she might be fit to be restored. 
That was a sad day : the act was judged 
necessary to prevent a public stain on re- 
ligion, and to preserve the purity of that 
body, whose holy Head is Christ. All 
mourned over one so far '* astray as not to 
recognize her own disgrace, or give even 
remote hope of a good return ; and all sym- 
pathy went out to a man who had for sixty 
years held unblemished reputation and good 
position before the community; and for 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


87 


daughter and son, who loved and cherished 
the evil-doer, and blushed where she would 
not blush for herself. 

“ Father,’’ said Agatha, “ this thing is 
becoming too notorious. John will know 
all about it soon. It may make him reckless. 
At least he is so high-spirited, that I am 
afraid it will break his lieart. Hadn’t you 
better send him away to school ? ” 

Mr. Stafford thought this a good sugges- 
tion ; but to send away John, in whose lively, 
ardent spirit he now alone had refuge from 
the weight of his griefs, was like bereaving 
old Jacob of his Benjamin. He could cry 
with the patriarch, “If I am bereaved of 
my children, I am bereaved.” He did not 
know then that Ralph €urtis had formally 
endeavored to take away Agatha. 

Agatha had wished she had a wise mother 
to talk to about the course she had taken, 
but she had not been educated to find a 


88 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


confidant in her father. Uncle Jerry, who 
knew more of gossip than any old woman, 
informed Mr. Stafford that Agatha “ had 
thrown Ralph Curtis overboard.” 

Mr. Stafford hinted this remark to his 
daughter. 

“ Father,” said Agatha, ‘‘ don’t you know 
anybody that needs me more than Ralph 
Curtis does?” 

“I do need you,” said her father. Then 
after a time, “ If that is your only reason, 
Agatha, I don’t want you to sacrifice your- 
self to me.” 

‘‘ It is not my only reason,” said Agatha. 
‘‘I feel that I have not courage enough to 
endure such fires as you are now walking 
in. Nor do I wish to look forward to grow- 
ing elderly, and sitting day after day opposite 
such another figure as Uncle Jerry.” 

“ I did not think Ralph in that danger,” 
said Mr. Stafford. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


89 


‘‘ There’s safety in ‘ Total Abstinence,’ ” 
said Agatha. 

‘‘ I have not advocated that doctrine, and 
you see where I am,” said Mr. Stafford. 

“ You may be the rule or its exception,” 
said Agatha ; “ but would you advise me 
to run the risk ? ” 

‘‘No, — I would not,” said Mr. Stafford, 
slowly. 

John was sent away to school. Agatha 
prepared his outfit, between pride, regret, and 
anxiety. While the mother was unable to 
counsel, she endeavored to supply her place. 

“ John,” said Agatha, laying her hand on 
the boy’s shoulder, and gazing earnestly into 
his eyes, “ I look to you for most of the 
happiness of my life.” 

Alas, Agatha ! if you had said “ most of 
the misery,” you would have come nearer 
the mark. 

Three months, five months gone by, — the 


90 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


home-burden was very heavy ; but from John’s 
school came good reports : he was a bright 
boy, a studious boy, a popular boy ; and daily 
more and more of golden hopes clustered 
about this boy’s future. 

John was coming home for vacation. Aga- 
tha, knowing well his tastes, was planning 
expeditions after birds, flowers, insects, and 
minerals'; and had gathered into his room 
new books, new tools, new fishing tackle, 
and new shot-gun and accoutrements. 

She' was coming homeward from the post- 
office one morning, and a boy and a girl 
of about fourteen walked just before her. 
The boy was speaking : “ Is that so ? I guess 
it runs in the blood. Why, John Stafford 
can toss off a glass just as easy.” 

“ Shocking ! ” cried the girl. 

Of course it is not often he does it, nor 
does it make him drunk ; but I’ve seen him 
do it. He said he could, and he did.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


91 


“ I shouldn’t think the school would allow 
it.” 

Pooh ! boys don’t always mind the 
rules ! ” 

“ Why, he’ll be a drunkard next ! ” cried 
the girl. 

“ So some of the boys told him ; but he 
hooted at them. He said he didn’t care for 
the taste, and it did not hurt him any, and 
he never meant to drink it much ; but he 
wasn’t such a coward as to be afraid of a 
little whiskey. He was strong enough to 
act like a man, and not disgrace himself. 
He just did it to. show he was not afraid.” 

Agatha went home in agony ; the iron had 
entered her soul. Her brother, her noble, 
darling boy, the centre of her proudest hopes, 
was going the drunkard’s way. Trembling, 
she told her father. 

‘‘ He’s too young to go away from home,” 
he said : ‘‘we must bring him back and see 


92 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


to him. But how can we bring him where 
his mother is going on so ? ” and he groaned 
aloud. 

“ There is but one way. Let mother be 
sent to the Inebriate Asylum,” said Agatha. 

‘‘ How can I take my wife to such a place ? 
I could not look a man in the face while 
I made the shame public.” 

“ It is public now,” said Agatha ; but 
you know, father, I can do anything. I 
will take her there, and you go stay with 
John, until examination is over. When you 
bring him home, all will be ready.” 

Mr. Stafford told his son that “his poor 
mother had been taken to an asylum.” John 
wept ; he thought his mother was insane ; 
he did not fully know of her evil habit, 
and concluded her mind was astray. 

John’s mind was now also a little astray : 
he was not afraid of the Demijohn. 


CHAPTER III. 


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CHAPTER IIL 

fotttt begins to lifet the Jemijote. 



OHN was the 
‘central ob- 
ject of love 
and care to 
Ills father 
and Aga- 
tha. T w o 
thoughts 
about him 
now p e r- 
plexed them ; 
any liking he 
had for liquor must be eradicated, and he. - 

95 


96 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


must be prepared for college. For his son’s 
sake Mr. Stafford banished wine from his 
dinner-table, and Agatha had long rejected 
it from the cooking. The question started 
by Agatha was, ‘‘ Shall John take the 
pledge ? ” 

“ No,” said Mr. Stafford. “ A pledge pre- 
supposes a contemptible weakness. It is 
only used to bolster a mind too feeble to 
stand alone ; and it is, of course, insufficient. 
If a man really cannot help himself, the 
pledge will not uphold him ; and if he. does 
not need it, he degrades himself by entering 
into any such bond.” 

Before John, Mr. Stafford always spoke 
sneeringly of temperance societies, saying, 
“ every man ought to be able to stand alone.” 
He was, however, very anxious that his son 
should have no craving for strong drink. 

“ Wine, John, clouds the brain,” he said. 

“ Think so, father ? ” he replied. “ I read 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 97 

an article in a magazine, — first-rate article 
too, — saying that a man’s mind was more 
active after a breakfast of bread and wine 
than after taking any other nourishment. 
I tried it when we were cramming for review, 
and I could study like a streak of light- 
ning.” 

‘‘ I wouldn’t have done it,” said his father 
“ Any study under unnatural pressure must 
be bad for the health.” 

“ I didn’t care for the health,” said John. 
“ I was bound not to let those other fellows 
get ahead of me.” 

“A man, John,” remarked Mr. Stafford 
again, “ loses more than he makes, by liking 
liquor. There’s Ralph Curtis has lost your 
sister by that very thing.” 

“Agatha’s over-particular,” quoth John. 

“ I hope, John, you have not been indulg- 
ing in whiskey at school.” 

“ Ojily when it was necessary,” replied 
John. 


98 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“ And how frequently was it necessary ? ” 
asked his father anxiously : he had heard 
this plea before. 

Why, once in a while, when we were 
getting up a declamation, or putting in two 
or three extra hours' study at night, we’d 
have a glass of hot toddy, not very strong, 
of course, and it opened our eyes, and stirred 
us up jolly.” 

“ No more such doings,” said Mr. Stafford 
sternly. “ Do you want to grow such a 
specimen as Uncle Jerry?” 

John did not look much like such a trans- 
formation then, as, in his bright, happy boy- 
hood, he was with his sister, roaming through 
fields and woods, fishing, riding, shoot- 
ing, enjoying himself generally. He said 
“ Agatha was better company than half the 
boys in town.” Yet he liked these other 
boys, and many were the picnics and boating- 
parties Agatha helped him to organize. He 
was studying at the Academy, and had a 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


99 


tutor an hour a day besides, and his progress 
was steady and rapid. 

While Mr. Stafford was lopping off the 
top and outmost boughs of the tree, Intemper- 
ance, Agatha was striking at the root. She 
believed that nothing but the grace of God 
would keep her brother from the fatal snare : 
for that grace she prayed. 

Temperance, as an organization, has done 
much for religion, in fixing in the church 
a better idea on the subject of intoxicating 
drinks. In return, where temperance comes 
short of its aim, and cannot steady the 
tempted soul, religion, the power from on 
high, shall aid the cause of temperance, by 
"descending on the faltering heart, and filling 
it with righteousness, and setting it in the 
clear sunlight of God’s love. Thus may 
Religion and Temperance, fair sisters, walk 
hand in hand until the hosts of God, pouring 
triumphant from the millennial gates, shall 
crown them abundant conquerors. 


100 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


John would listen quietly while his sister 
talked to him of the service of the Lord ; 
but his heart was far from the new life she 
pointed out. His ambition was to be a doc- 
tor, a surgeon ; to rise to the head of his 
profession ; to write books that should rank 
as high authority, and should make him 
famous. He had no goal but this ; he saw 
such destiny clearly before him ; he had no 
other thought than to conquer for himself 
such future ; it was only a question of time. 
There stood John on the threshold of life, 
girding himself valiantly for the race. There 
far away was the shining prize of honor and 
emolument; he was on the straight road 
thither ; he was ready to run like a young 
athlete ; but ah, me ! there lay a lion crouch- 
ing in the way ! One thrust from the sword 
of the Spirit would lay that monster low; 
but the sword of the Spirit was not of John’s 
preparations for the running. 

He would sometimes go with Agatha to 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


101 


lecture or prayer-meeting ; sometimes he 
would prefer to stay at home and study. 
Staying home so one evening, when father 
and sister were both at church, John sud- 
denly thought he would make a little sling, 
to cheer his progress over his chemistry. 
He had had nothing of this kind since he 
came home ; he craved it somewhat, for, truth 
to, say, John began to have a liking for the 
contents of the demijohn. 

He took a small lamp in one hand, a tin 
cup in the other, and went to the store- 
room ; he went slowly and guiltily like a 
thief ; he was ashamed of his intention ; 
he had no pain or feebleness to plead as 
his excuse; his task was neither long nor 
hard ; his head was clear ; he was going for 
whiskey just because he wanted it, — wanted 
it for its own sake. No wonder John 
blushed, and trod on tiptoe. 

“ Pshaw ! can’t a fellow do as he likes ? ” 


102 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


said John, angrily to himself. “ One need 
not be an old fogy ! ” 

He poured out a portion from the demijohn 
in haste, setting down his lamp and holding 
the cork between his teeth ; the cork had 
the old-time flavor. John half-filled his cup, 
and hurried to his room. He had water 
there, and took a big lump of sugar from 
the bowl in the china-closet, as he went 
along. He was up to school-boy tricks, and 
meant to heat his potion over the lamp in 
his room. Safe in that pleasant room, John 
got his lamp ready, and thought he would 
just take a taste of the raw “ article ” before 
adding sugar or water. His eyes opened 
wide over the gulp he took: it was clear 
water, and nothing more. He pondered : he 
certainly had half-filled his cup from the 
demijohn that for years had held its appro- 
priate supply ; and now, instead of fiery 
“ Bourbon ” or good old “ Apple ” whiskey, 
here was — water. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


103 


‘‘ That’s some of Agatha’s work,” said 
John. ‘‘I never saw such a girl!” 

John did not like to question his sister 
on the subject of the demijohn ; yet it weighed 
on his mind, and he ventured to say, one 
morning, 

“ What ever made you empty out that 
whiskey ? ” 

“ I didn’t want the mischievous stuff 
about.” 

“ I ought to quote you the verse Uncle 
Jerry is always getting about half off, and 
never finishes. I’ve interrupted him fifty 
times in the middle of it. ‘ Every creature 
of God is good and not to be — ’ ” 

“ I found a better creature to put jn the 
demijohn.” 

“ But what is a fellow to do when he’s 
got a specimen of a bug, or a reptile, or the 
like, to put up in spirits for preservation ? ” 

Put them in the bottles, and go down to 


104 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


the drug-store and have them filled with 
alcohol,” said Agatha. 

Uncle Jerry had got past the point where 
he could say “ whiskey did not affect him.” 
Whiskey was bringing foul disgrace on his 
gray hairs : he would get stupidly drunk, 
and go staggering about, not knowing what 
he was doing. Agatha and her father were 
out together one evening, and, when they 
came in, they found Uncle Jerry lying on 
the lounge in the sitting-room, his face pur- 
ple, his mouth open, and his loud snores 
filling the room. 

“ What does all this mean ? ” demanded 
Agatha. 

John, who was lying back in the rocking- 
chair as if exhausted, burst into a peal of 
laughter. At last he explained : “ I was sit- 

ting here reading, when I heard a stumbling 
and scratching on the porch, as if two or 
three dogs were out there. I heard mumbling 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


105 


and muttering, too ; and I knew it was 
something human. Then I heard, ‘ Every 
creature is good ; ’ and I knew it was Uncle 
Jerry. I took a lamp, and opened the door. 
There was Uncle Jerry below the steps, 
clawing about, and tugging at the scraper 
like mad. He saw my light, and looked up 
too funny for anything. Says he, ‘ You young 
dog, what you got this door turned up-side 
down for, and this handle tied so tight it 
won’t turn ? Come down out of that window 
and help your old uncle ! ’ I set my lamp 
on a chair, and went out and began handling 
him by his coat-collar. How he howled, 
‘ Hands • off! Is a man of my weight a fly, 
that he can crawl up the side of the house ? ’ 
I towed him on, and he struggled, yelling, 
‘ Let me open the door. I ain’t a thief to 
get in at the window 1 ’ and I pulled like a 
good one, and finally had him in the room, 
and pushed him on the lounge. Says he, 


106 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘ There ! that’s the first time I ever clomb 
the side of the house. What’ll Agg say to 
that ? ’ I’ve laughed until I am nearly 
dead ! ” 

Mr. Stafibrd laughed too. 

Agatha was indignant. “ I will not have 
him coming here in this condition,” she 
cried : “we have had trouble and disgrace 
enough. You must teach him better, father. 
He has no claim on us.” 

“We can’t get rid of him to-night,” said 
John : “ he can’t walk a rod. What an old 
spectacle it is, a man lying like a hog. 
Bah!” 

“ Call Nick to get him up-stairs ; and 
to-morrow I will let him know this is not 
to be repeated,” said Mr. Stafford. 

While Nick was coming, John began to 
‘stir up’, his uncle. Finding his efforts fail, 
he coolly upset a glass of water over his face, 
while Agatha cried, “ Take care that lounge 1 ” 
and his father, “ Have done that, sir 1 ” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 107 

Roused by the sudden chill, Uncle Jerry 
straightened himself up, reaching aimlessly 
about. “ Ah, Agg, how do ? Say now, ain’t 
every creature good, and not to be de- 
spised ? ” 

Here, Nick the strong brought him to his 
feet, and began to take him up-stairs. 

‘‘ This must never happen again,” said 
Agatha : ‘‘ nothing is so hateful to me as a 
drunken person.” 

Poor Agatha ! she was doomed to be 
often disgusted. 

“ See,” said Mr. Stafford, beginning to 
moralize, ‘‘ to what a contemptible object 
a man may be^ reduced, who uses intoxicating 
liquors.” 

“ To excess,” added John. 

“ To excess,” admitted his father. 

And to that excess most who use them 
at all, are liable,” thus Agatha. 

“ That’s putting it too strong,” said John. 


108 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Uncle Jerry is not a fair specimen. He 
never had any intellectual tastes : he loved 
whiskey, and loved nothing else.’’ 

While Agatha felt profound pity and 
mortification at seeing any human being 
reduced to the vile condition of Uncle Jerry, 
John thought his relative’s vagaries wonder- 
fully funny. He came home from a debating 
club one night, and, sitting by his sister, 
began to laugh. 

‘‘ What is the matter ? ” asked Agatha. 

“ I’ve had another adventure with Uncle 
' Jerry.” 

“ I don’t want to hear about it.” 

Yes : you do ; it is the best joke. As I 
came home. Uncle Jerry was rolling along, 
half a square ahead of me ; and between us 
was a weazened-up little man, drunk also. 
Uncle Jerry was roaring out bits of songs — 
his favorite quotation — prices of liquors, and 
eulogies on his favorite drinks, making as 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


109 


much noise as fifty lions. He wound up 
every half-sentence with a howl. That howl 
seemed to raise the dormant ambition of the 
little man, and he would begin to peep and 
mutter, about as loud as a half-grown chick. 
Uncle Jerry would catch the sound, and bel- 
low at him, ‘ Hush up ; don’t disturb the 
streets at night. Keep quiet ; come on easy 
like I do. Hold your tongue ; you’ll frighten 
the folks ; ’ and close up his exhortations with 
a whoop like a thousand owls.” 

Agatha looked very grave, 
u don’t you laugh, Agg ? ” said John, 
poking his finger at her. 

“ I can’t,” said Agatha. Oh, John, sup- 
pose I should ever see you, grand boy tliat 
you are now, reduced so low ! ” 

She stood before him, her hands on his 
shoulders, looking into his eyes. 

“Will you desert me if I come to that ? ” 
asked John, lightly. 


no 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ I shall always stand by you,” said Agatha, 
sadly. 

“ Never fear,” cried John : “ you shall 
see me the top and crowning glory of my 
profession ; the pride of your heart, the honor 
of our family name ; and, if you live so long, 
you shall see me hale and wise, the patriarch 
of some city, a notable old man.” 

“ The secret of a hale old age,” replied 
Agatha, “ is touched by Shakespeare’s Adam, 
when he says to young Orlando, — 

“Though I look old, yet am I strong and lusty: 

For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors to my blood.” 

When we said that Mr. Stafford had ban- 
ished wine from his dinner table, and in 
relating that Agatha had filled the ancient 
demijohn with water, we did not mean to 
suggest that liquors were driven from the 
house entirely. Mr. Stafford would have 
thought this the height of absurdity. He 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Ill 


must have such things on hand, for illness, 
or to treat a guest ; and, while the storeroom, 
where Agatha held supreme sway, was 
emptied of the poison, down in the cellar 
were cases of bottles packed in sawdust, — 
bottles with black, dusty, cobwebby necks, of 
whose contents our John was not at all afraid. 

He brought one bottle up, and disposed of 
it by degrees, as he sat studying in his 
room. A small taste was enough for him 
at one time ; but that small taste he liked, 
and sometimes craved. Yet he dared not let 
his father or Agatha know this secret ; he 
was ashamed of it, and, moreover, was sure 
of strong censures. 

Before Christmas, he had used the second 
bottle. Had John kept utter silence on the 
subject of this growing appetite, he might 
not just then have heard bad news; but he 
was apt to brag a little, before boys, of his 
knowledge of wine, thinking it looked manly 


112 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


to have a preference for this or that; and 
he liked to talk of “prime articles/’ and 
our “ last case of sherry,” and of the virtues 
of certain champagne, just for the sake of 
hearing himself, and of being thought a dash- 
ing lad. But these remarks caused others 
new to his ears : hints about his “ not know- 
ing how things stood ; ” “ wouldn’t talk so 
loud if he did ; ” “ might come to grief, yet ; ” 
and reference, all dark and not apprehended, 
to his “ mother.” 

These dark sayings he was resolved Agatha 
must unravel. He went home from the 
Academy one afternoon, intent on “ coming 
at the bottom of matters.” 

That had been a bad day for Agatha. A 
letter from the Asylum physician had given 
small hope of ever effecting a cure in Mrs. 
Stafford’s case. Her father had grown very 
melancholy, and had thought a glass of wine 
would do him good ; and, going down cellar 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


113 


for a bottle, had found two gone. He had 
laid this first to the cook, and then to Nick ; 
but Agatha, with a clearer insight, had dis- 
cerned the real culprit, and made good her 
suspicions by bringing the empty bottles from 
remote corners of John’s closet. 

Mr. Stafford had gone down town moody ; 
and Agatha had been weeping, and, when 
John came home, sat dressed for the after- 
noon, sewing, with a dismal face. 

“ Agatha,” said John, “ when did you 
hear from mother ? ” 

“ To-day : she is no better.” 

“ Honor bright, where is mother ? ” 

‘‘ At an asylum. John, you’ve taken two 
bottles of wine from the cellar.” 

John started and flushed. “ What of 
that ? ” he snapped. “ That’s nothing.” 

‘‘It is a great deal,” said his sister. 

“ I have a right to a share of what’s 
in the house. It is no worse than taking 
a slice of cake. Can’t I do that ? ” 


114 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Take the cake ? Yes: all you want. John, 
this liking wine and such stuff is a terrible 
matter : you’re on the road to ruin.” 

‘‘ That’s a pretty way to tackle a fellow,” 
said John, kicking his heel into the carpet. 

I’ve seen those, as far from expecting 
danger as you are, completely destroyed,” 
began Agatha. 

“ Quit that ! ” cried John. I didn’t come 
here to get a temperance lecture. What do 
all these hints I get flung at me mean? 
Tell me now, true as preaching, what is this 
about my mother ? ” 

‘‘ Your mother is in an Inebriate Asylum,” 
said Agatha, desperately. 

John blanched. “ My mother a drunk- 
ard ? ” 

“ Yes,” groaned Agatha, hiding her face. 

John flung up his arms wildly over his 
head, gave a cry, turned as if to fly some- 
where, and fell senseless at his sister’s feet. 

Agatha had underrated her brother’s ex- 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


115 


treme sensitiveness. The blow that had been 
so terrible to her, when the knowledge of it 
came slowly through months and even years, 
had fallen on John with the suddenness of a 
thunder-bolt : besides, there was a tie between 
John and his mother, such as did not bind 
Agatha to Mrs. Stafford ; the strong tie of 
nature was tenderer than the affection that 
had grown up between the two once strangers. 

Shocked at the effect of her words, Agatha 
bitterly reproached herself, as she strove first 
to restore consciousness, and then to ad- 
minister comfort. 

Her father also upbraided her. “ You 
have broken the poor boy’s heart,” he 
said. 

The bitterness of that hour never left 
Agatha. She felt as if she had been cruel 
to the brother she loved so well, as if she 
had blighted his happy youth, and done him 
irreparable injury — for which her utmost 
devotion must atone. 


116 . JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 

Coming to himself, John refused all sym- 
pathy ; he sat with his head on his hands, 
rejecting food or comfort, and, at last, went 
drearily to his bed. Agatha could not rest 
while she knew he was suffering ; she went 
at length to his room, and kneeling down in 
the darkness by his bed, threw her arms 
over his neck, as often she had come to 
hush him to sleep in his baby-years. The 
poor boy was crying. 

“ John,” said Agatha, you must not 
feel as if mother was cast out or neglected. 
She is where she can have every comfort 
and attention. We do not think of her with 
anger or harshness : we consider her as if 
insane on that one point. We remember all 
her goodness, all her pleasant ways, her 
prettiness, the kind acts she did ; and to me, 
John, they were more than can ever be re- 
paid ; and we love her still, and hope some 
day to have her back with us, cured.” 

“But every one will despise her, mock 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


117 


her, talk of her, even if she does come back 
cured,” said John, with a sob. 

No, no,” said Agatha : “ there is no one 
here who will not rejoice to see her ; who 
will not look on this past as a miserable 
mania, and be eager to see her and encourage 
her. She is not despised here, John: she 
is pitied — ” 

“ I don’t want my mother to be pitied. I 
want her to be respected,” said John, groan- 
ing. 

“ How can you live here mid endure it ? ” 
he burst out suddenly. “Why don’t you 
get away where nobody knows you ? ” 

“ God can help us to endure it, John,” 
said Agatha. “Here is the place where he 
has put us, and he opens to us no way of 
leaving it ; our duties are here. We are 
pained but not disgraced by this: we can 
only be disgraced by wrong-doing of our 
own.” 


118 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Go away, Agatha,” said John; “it was 
just as well for you to tell me. I was bound 
to find it out somehow ; and if any one had 
told me down town, I don’t believe I should 
ever have got home.” 

Agatha kissed him, and went away. 

Early next morning, John went to Nick. 

“ Nick, here’s my desk-key ; go to desk 
No. 16, and bring me all that’s in it.” 

So John’s books were piled upon the hall- 
table. After breakfast, he sat down, drearily, 
in a corner of the dining-room. 

“ Schooltime, my son,” said Mr. Stafford, 
hesitatingly. 

“ I’m not going to school,” said John. 
“ Do you suppose I can face those boys after 
this ? ” 

“ You’ve done a bad piece of business for 
us, Agatha,” said Mr. Stafford, looking at 
Agatha, who was washing silver, by the 
breakfast-table. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


119 


“ No : she hasn’t,” interrupted John. 
“ What would I have done if I had heard 
that in a room full of boys ? I’d have gone 
and pitched myself into the river.” 

Still at noon was John to be found hiding 
in the house, and Agatha a picture of misery, 
watching him. 

“ John,” said Mr. Stafford, “ I hope you 
are not going to let yourself be wrecked over 
your mother’s failings. You are all the hope 
I have ; you must hold up your head, and 
be a man. I want to have some comfort 
of you before I drop into my grave ; and, 
as your sister has evidently made up her 
mind to stick by you, I want to feel that 
you are going to be a good protector for 
her.” 

“ And,” said John, sharply, “ the more 
of a man I am, the more I get to be known, 
the more people there will be to say, ‘ His 
mother was a drunkard.’ I think the best 


120 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


we three can do, is to hide ourselves in some 
hole where we’ll never be heard of again.” 

“ John,” said Mr. Stafford, wiping his 
eyes, ‘‘ there are very few things that, by 
noble deeds and purposes, we cannot live 
down.” " , 

Of course, the excess of John’s feelings, 
in due time, wore off. However, he would 
not go into the town, nor would he go to 
the Academy ; he loved study and he studied 
at home. His tutor came each morning, and 
in the afternoons he would shoulder his gun 
and go off for a tramp in the woods. It 
was a lonely, misanthropic life for a boy, 
and Agatha hoped it would soon glide into 
something brighter. 

As it was winter, she could * not go out 
in the woods with him as she had once 
done ; but one afternoon, in spite of the cold, 
she proposed a walk to the coast ; she could 
not bear to see the boy with such a gloomy 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


121 


face, taking to the dark, snowy woods ; and 
the anxiety until he came home at nightfall, 
was more than she was willing to endure. 

It was two miles to the sea-shore ; but 
Agatha was a swift and tireless walker, and 
she strove to lighten the way by lively or 
earnest conversation, and at last the sea, blue 
and glittering in the winter sunshine, was 
tossing its, cold, white-capped waves at their 
feet. The beach was hard, shining sand; 
farther away, the hare cliffs frowned over the 
sea. The wind was strong and cutting. 
Agatha drew her fur coat closely about 
her, and, putting her hand through John’s 
arm, stood braving the gale. 

So hereafter was she to stand with him, 
braving the tempests of a life, whose golden 
summer, even now passing away, was pressed 
close by a long and stormy winter. 

Coming home, they met Uncle Jerry, a 
jug in his hand. 


122 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ Good-day, folks ! ’’ he cried. “ Cold day 1 
Step in here to my room, and I’ll give you 
a stiff tip that will keep you on your feet, in 
spite of the wind.” 

“I don’t want any,” said John, sulkily.* 
“Oh, come now, come now. You ain’t 
setting up, like Agg, to despise the good 
things of this life. If you’d receive ’em with 
thanksgiving, like I do, Agg, they wouldn’t 
do you a mite of hurt. Come in.” 

The brother and sister passed by him. 
“ Agatha,” asked John, thickly, did — mother 
ever — act like that ? ” 

“ Oh, no, indeed ! ” said Agatha, “ if any- 
thing was — wrong, she staid quietly in her 
own room, and nobody saw her, unless I did, 
or Sara.” 

John drew a long breath. “ Then she 
was never about the streets ? ” 

“ Oh, no, John. Poor boy ! have you been 
thinking of such things ? ” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


123 


Spring came. 

“Father,” said John, “ there’s no use of 
talking, I am not going to school here any 

more. But I’ll go to Academy, and I’ll 

be ready to enter college at commence- 
ment.” 

“ I suppose you’ll have to do so,” said 
Mr. Stafford. He thought of the news that 
had come home from John’s school the 
previous year. So did Agatha ; but she set 
about getting him ready for a start. He 
sat down by her one day, while she was 
marking his handkerchiefs, not with indelible 
ink, but with dainty needle-work. 

“ John, I shall miss you,” she said ; “ and 
I shall be anxious about you. I so want you 
to do right, John. There is one thing that 
would make me very happy about you.” 

John knew what she meant ; but he said, 
“What’s that?” in a careless tone. 

“ If you were only a Christian, John.” 


124 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ I don’t know how to set about being 
that,” said John ; it is the hardest thing 
you could tell me.” 

“ Don’t you feel the need of it, — how much 
better it would be ? ” 

“ No,” said John : “ I don’t. I go to 
church, and don’t swear ; and I don’t feel 
as if it was important to do any better than 
that. You say it is, and so does the min- 
ister ; so I suppose it is true. Perhaps some 
day I’ll see it so.” 

“It is the only thing that can surely keep 
you from evil,” began Agatha. 

“ Don’t Christians sometimes fall into 
tremendous sins ? ” asked John. 

Sometimes they do,” replied Agatha. 

“And do those who are not Christians 
invariably become immoral.? ” asked John 
again. 

“ No,” said Agatha, “ Yet you can be 
as moral as you please, and yet fail of heaven 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


125 


at last. You can be almost saved, and yet 
entirely lost. I have found so much trouble 
mixed in this earthly life, John, that I need 
a sure hope of a perfect and glorious life, to 
sustain me.” 

“ Well, after all, Agatha,” said John, ‘‘ I 
have great hopes in this life. I thought I 
hadn’t, that they were lost ; but they are all 
coming up bright as ever. I shall press on 
to be a great man, and be learned enough 
to be lifted, like Saul, head and shoulders 
above my fellow-men.” 

“ I hope so,” said Agatha ; “ but, while 
your feet are treading the high places of 
this earth, I want to see your hands taking 
hold on the good things of the world to 
come.” 

Mr. Stafford could not let his boy go again 
from home unwarned of what seemed to be 
his chief danger. 

“ John,” he said, when one day they were 


126 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


alone, ‘‘ you know I’ve had a great deal of 
trouble one way and another with drinking. 
I had a constant worry from it while Agatha’s 
mother’s family were living; there’s Uncle 
Jerry makes me ashamed every day of my 
life ; and there’s the other trouble, — worse 
than all. Of course I’m particularly anxious 
that you should keep clear of liquor.” 

‘‘There’s no danger of me,” said John, 
confidently. 

“ But, son John, when you were last away 
at school, we heard, accidentally, that you 
would take a glass now and then by way 
of showing what you could do ; and those 
two bottles of wine, you know.” 

John blushed a little. 

“You need not be afraid for me any more 
on that score. I’ve had my lesson in this 
horrible thing about mother. I shall never 
have any more to do with the stuff— in 
that way.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


127 


That’s right, that’s right,” said Mr. Staf- 
ford, taking his son’s hand. “Very likely 
there was no need to distress myself about 
you : only Agatha made me anxious ; she’s 
very fond of you, John. And by and by 
you will be all that’s left to her.” 

John looked anxiously at his father at this 
hint. 

‘‘Oh, I’m all right yet,” said Mr. Stafford ; 
“ but I’m by no means as young as I used 
to be, and these things have worn on me.” 

So John got ready for school ; and on a 
clear April day, when Nick was working 
busily on the flower-borders, and the blue- 
birds were raising a tumult in the orchards, 
he shook hands with his father and Agatha, 
and started for the depot, carrying with him, 
on his way to school, more than half their 
liearts. 

Going through the town, he came across 
Uncle Jerry, leaning against a lamp-post, 


128 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and trying to put on his felt hat, a wide- 
brimmed, low-crowned hat, which, as he was 
trying to get it on upside down, as soon 
as released from his grasp, would fall to the 
sidewalk. He would then, with great diffi- 
culty, pick it up ; for Uncle Jerry had ar- 
rived at such girth that stooping was a tedious 
business for him. As he stooped, he would 
apostrophize his hat : “0 you idiot ! 0 

you dunce ! 0 you jackanapes ! can’t you 

stay on my head?” A crowd of small boys 
stood by, laughing. Uncle Jerry spied John. 
“ Nevvy, lend us 'a string to tie on this hat. 
I believe it s got an imp in it : see how it 
goes: there it is again.” 

John walked brusquely past him, burning 
with indignation that such a miserable crea- 
ture could claim kindred with him. 

“ Old sot ! ” he said : “ why can’t he use 
things in moderation ! ” 

Moderation ! ” It is what many are willing 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


129 


to talk about, who are utterly unable to 
put it in practice. 

With the new scenes, occupations, and com- 
panionships at school, John’s feelings about 
his mother, lost much of their keenness: 
he could forget her position sometimes, or, 
remembering it, have less pain and mortifi- 
cation over it ; and, unfortunately, less disgust, 
with the evil that had wrought her ruin. 

He meant never to drink any more: but 
the rules of his school were not over-strict ; 
and there were some lads there who liked 
to drop into a saloon, and call for a glass 
of ale, or of toddy, or a cobbler, and who 
were not slow to invite the new comer to 
do the same. 

Thank you. I don’t care to. No : I be- 
lieve not:” so John. 

‘^What’s amiss? Belong to these new 
Temperance Lights ? ” 

“No,” said John, promptly. 


130 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“ What’s your reason, then ? Come, fork 
it over : ” But John’s reason was one that 
could not be divulged. 

“ ’Fraid of a headache ? ” asked one, sneer- 
ingly. 

‘‘ I’m not so raw as that,” said John, 
bristling at the remark. 

“ Try a tip,” said another : “ it’s the best 
thing in the world to keep off colds, or to 
clear up one’s whistle, if one’s got to spout 
on the stage in the chapel.” 

John was in no danger of colds, neither 
did his ‘ whistle ’ need clearing for the de- 
clamatory exercises ; but, in less than two 
months, he had yielded, and duly sucked a 
mint-julep through a straw, and was ready 
‘‘ just to take a taste, and pass an opinion,” 
on any new combination of liquor and 
et-ceteras, which the bar-keeper, a right-hand 
man of Satan, chose to get up for the delecta- 
tion of unwary boys. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


131 


Generally, after a letter from Agatha or 
his father, John would have a short season 
of entire abstinence — and even when not 
in these fits of penitence, he was never visibly 
under the influence of liquor ; he never took 
enough to flush his cheek, or trip his tongue. 
The boys called him “ Professor Particular 
sometimes, as he never openly violated rules, 
and was diligent at his books. His teachers 
made glad his father’s heart by their com- 
mendations, and, when Mr. Stafibrd came to 
take his son to college to pass his examina- 
tion, he was proud indeed of his thorough- 
ness and proficiency, and the evident favor 
with which he was received by the Faculty. 

Agatha came to attend the school exhibi- 
tion. 

“ You have not grown a bit, John,” she 
said. “ I used to think you would be tall, 
like father; but I believe you are going to 
be a little man.” 


132 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ Your best goods are done up in small 
parcels,” laughed John. 

“ You’ve studied too hard,” said Agatha : 
“ you must spend your vacation in hunting 
and fishing and taking long tramps after 
‘ specimens ’ that will develop your muscles.” 

What would Agatha have felt, had she 
known the truth, that John’s growth was 
being hindered by poison, imbibed under the 
name of wine, whiskey, or brandy ! 

The fact was, that, as these things did not 
at once affect John’s head, neither made 
him sick nor stupid, he did not realize how 
much he took. That he liked them was now 
a fact; yet a fact which he would fiercely 
have denied. To like them savored too much 
of Uncle Jerry, and of his mother. 

Mrs. Stafford was pining to see John ; 
and, while her husband thought he could not 
take their son to visit her under present 
circumstances, Agatha volunteered to accom- 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


133 


pany John to the asylum. “ It may do them 
both good,” she said. 

Mrs. Stafford was looking much better 
than when she left home. The regime of 
the establishment was benefiting her physi- 
cally ; but she was peevish and unhappy, 
thought herself dreadfully abused in being 
sent to such a place, accused Agatha of 
treachery and unkindness, and declared she 
was refused “ things really necessary to her 
health.” Agatha knew what she meant. ' It 
was an unhappy visit ; but seeing his mother, 
and being continually with Agatha, had a 
restraining influence on John. His father 
concluded that he had “ sown his wild oats ” 
and was now ready to settle down ; ” and 
Agatha laid aside her fears, and looked cheer- 
fully forward to her brother’s future. In her 
love for him, she did no castle-building for 
herself: the rose-hues, and the glories of 
the coming years, were all for John. Aga- 


134 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


tha’s life was an earnest grapple with every- 
day cares and duties. Not only the affairs of 
the household, but nauch of her father’s 
business rested on her now : he was growing 
feeble. How well for her that she was 
strengthened by heaven-sent angels, in the 
weary way! How much wearier that way 
had been, had she known that John had a 
secret, shame-faced liking for the demi- 
john ! 



( 


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CHAPTER IK 



ajsi tite SmijotiU!* 


studies pretty lively ; ’ 
137 


OHN was at 
college. He 
had secured 
a pleasant 
room and a 
gentlemanly 
‘‘chum 
As he wrote 
Agatha, he 
was all ready 
for “ putting 
into his 
he was also ready 


138 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


for all the ills a “Fresh” is heir to. John 
was resolved to make his mark as a student : 
at the same time he did not object to a little 
fun. He had joined a literary society ; and, 
being possessed of a good deal of talent, and 
not averse to making an exhibition of it, 
he soon became popular with dashing Soph- 
omores, and grave and reverend Seniors, as 
well as with his brother Freshmen. The 
confidence with which he spoke of his future 
profession, and his passion for chemistry and 
other branches of natural science, gained 
him the sobriquet of “ Doctor : ” he was also 
soon possessed of another title, the “ Cater- 
er.” Whenever anything good to eat was 
going about, John was sure to secure a part ; 
not that he was particularly fond of good 
living himself, but that he liked to “ stand 
treat” to his acquaintances, and enjoyed the 
merriment his feats occasioned. 

One evening, just after dark, he put his 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


139 


head out of his window, when it suddenly 
humped against something swinging down 
from the room above ; grasping the object, 
he found a can of oysters. It was evident 
that the boys above stairs had been arranging 
for oyster-soup, and that some one, probably 
a tutor, had suspected the game, and inter- 
rupted it by an untimely visit. The fellows, 
therefore, had fastened the can to a stout 
string, and dropped it from the window, to 
escape discovery. The lid of the can was 
pried up, and salt and pepper had been 
added. 

‘‘ Sam,” said John to his room-mate, “ run 
over to the hotel and get us some crackers ; ” 
and, as Sam hastened away, John drew from 
the closet a tin pail, kept for emergencies 
of this kind, and emptied the oysters into 
it, filling the can instead with water. He 
was quick and quiet, and secured the can 
in the string as before. 


140 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Sam returning, he and John partook of 
oysters and crackers to their vast content. 

That was a dull trick of those ‘ Sophs ’ 
overhead,” said Sam. 

The “ Sophs ” overhead, however, knew to 
whom to attribute the loss of their shell- 
fish. “ WeTl go to-morrow night, before 
Society, and smoke ’em out,” they said. 

The next night, being Friday, Sam was 
out of his room, but John was busy over a 
tough piece of Greek, when the two Sophs, 
who had lost their oysters, accompanied by 
three of their friends, came in, armed with 
pipes ; and, fastening doors and windows 
began to “smoke” John. He saw their 
game, and sat, his hands clenched in his 
hair, studying fiercely, as in childish days, 
as long as he could see the page. Despite 
all his resolution, he began to choke a little. 

“ Well, John,” said the leading Soph, 
“ how do you like it ? find it as tasty as 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


141 


oyster-soup, eh ? ” and he blew from his 
mouth a huge volume of smoke, formed into 
ring after ring, to the intense admiration 
of his eompanions, who had not attained 
the proficiency of this excellent Soph, 

“ I’ll tell you what it is ! ” cried John ; 
“ you may use me up pretty well on tobacco, 
for it’s a thing I’m not much used to, and 
never had great liking for ; but if you were 
on the subject of a good stiff glass of 
whiskey. I’ll wager I could take one that 
would floor you completely, and I’d not feel 
it a particle.” 

“ Think so ? ” said the Soph, blowing more 
rings. 

“ I hnow so,” said John, confidently, fairly 
longing for a glass of punch to straighten 
him after that confounded smoke,” as he said 
to himself. 

“ Come now,” said his aggressor ; I’m 
not such a new hand at whiskey as you may 


142 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


imagine. I’ll step over to the hotel bar, and 
try it with you. But mind you, if I lay you 
flat, and the Faculty get after you, it is your 
own fault.” 

All right,” said John. So his guests put 
up their pipes, and, unfastening, the door, 
escorted John to their favorite hotel. 

“ Call for what you like,” said John, 
“ and the one who is half-seas-over first, 
foots the bill.” 

“ Done,” replied the other, winking at his 
companions. 

It was a fact that John was not easily 
affected by liquor, and he tossed off, as if it 
had been water, a quantity which reddened 
the eyes and excited the brain of his Soph- 
omore acquaintance. The other young men 
stood looking on. 

‘‘Come, Joe,” said one; “the little Fresh 
is too much for you : you’re on debate 
to-night, and you won’t be able to open your 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 143 

head, if you take any more. Besides, you’re 
noisy when you’re tipsy, and you’ll have 
‘ Tute ’ round after us. Come ahead out of 
here.” 

John made no objections to these remarks, 
and J oe dimly saw their wisdom ; so the boys 
set out for the society hall, — Joe, with diffi- 
culty, restrained from singing an over-lively 
tune as they crossed the Campus. 

John, by his drinking, had been stirred 
to extra mental activity. Joe, on the con- 
trary, was absurd and illogical ; and, after 
trying a speech, sat down amid the laughter 
of his friends. 

This was the first time John had drank 
any since coming to college, and he felt 
worried and ashamed about it. He thought 
of his father and Agatha ; he remembered his 
mother. “ Hoh,” he said to himself, im- 
patiently, it isn’t at all as if I had a habit, 
as if I drank often, or meant to keep on. I 


144 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


could drop it any time I chose.’’ And so 
he could, then. 

Doctor Day, the eminent Superintendent 
of the Binghamton Inebriate Asylum, says 
that there is one safeguard for those inclined 
to indulge in strong drink, which he has 
never known to fail. That is to prayerfully 
read each day certain passages from the 
Bible which bear upon their infirmity. As 
“ Preserve me, 0 God : for in thee do I put 
my trust.” “ Draw me not away with the 
wicked, and with the workers of iniquity,” 
and several others. This was a help which 
our foolish, self-destroying John omitted. 
He had a Bible, which Agatha entreated him 
to read ; but that Bible lay on a shelf, 
covered with dust. He was constant at 
church and chapel exercises, because he was 
careful to obey the rules of the college, that 
he might have honor in the eyes of the Fac- 
ulty. John was prayerless : poor lad ! he 
stood alone against the temptations of the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


145 


world, the flesh, and the devil, saying he was 
strong enough to rise above them all. We 
shall see that his strength was utter weakness. 

During the early part of winter, one of the 
professors was obliged, for a short time, to 
hear one of his classes at his owA house : 
the dining-room was prepared for the recita- 
tion, and u double row of chairs placed along 
one side of the apartment. John, as was to 
be expected from his title of ‘ Caterer,’ chose 
a back seat just in front of the sideboard ; 
and, during the recitation, confident of being 
unobserved by the absorbed and near-sighted 
professor, he reached softly back, and found 
the sideboard unlocked. Presently he slipped 
his hand within the door, and discovered 
the professor’s cake-basket, full of goodly 
slices. He took them one by one, and passed 
them along the line to his friends, who 
quietly bestowed them in their pockets. 
After recitation, he invited the possessors of 
cake to his room, obtained a bottle of wine. 


146 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and so treated them to a lunch. The next 
evening he repeated the operation ; but the 
third occasion of their appearance at the 
professor’s, they found the sideboard locked ! 

Apples were scarce and very dear. John, 
one afternoon, going through the town, found 
a stupid old countryman, with extra fine 
pippins for sale, from his sled, who solicited 
John to buy. John had in his vest pocket, 
a small, gilt advertising medal, bright and 
new ; just for a joke, he handed it to the 
old man crying, “ There’s your three-dollar 
gold-piece! give us a bushel of your . pippins, 
and fork over the change.” 

To his amazement, the old fellow “ accepted 
the coin,” carried the fruit to his room, and 
gave him the change. 

That evening the boys laughed heartily 
over this “ sell.” ‘‘ You’re a brick, John,” 
said Joe. “You’re just a bushel of pippins 
and your change richer for your bargain.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


147 


“Hold on there,” said John: “the fun’s 
enough for me. You don’t suppose I’ll keep 
the old chap’s money ! No, sir ! I know his 
name, and I shall send him a genuine three- 
dollar bill. I’m above cheating.” 

Some of the boys applauded, and some 
hooted this resolution: but John did as he 
said, and the next day the old man got his 
money. 

Meanwhile John offered to give his friends 
a “ treat.” He procured whiskey, sugar, 
spices and so on ; and, roasting some of the 
apples, had them presently bobbing about in 
a pail of hot toddy. From this kind of 
treats in which John indulged, he became 
known as a young man who “ could and 
did take a social glass now and then, and 
none the worse for it,” as his companions 
said. 

One. night, a number of students were in 
John’s room : they had occupied all the 


148 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


chairs, the wood-box, and the window-sill, 
and John had perched himself on the bar 
that was between the posts at the foot of his 
bed. 

I tell you now,” said the eldest of the 
group, a young man whom every one re- 
spe^cted, this whiskey is a dangerous pas- 
senger for a man to take on board for the 
voyage of life : he is usually bound to scuttle 
the ship. I’ve got an uncle, a lawyer he 
is ; he’s got money and position, and he’s 
A number one at his profession: he’s nearly 
swamped by whiskey, and he knows it.” 

Why don’t he quit it, then ? ” said John. 
“ That’s easier said than done. He can’t.” 
“ What’s he going to do about it ? ” asked 
Joe. Knock under ? ” 

“He’s gone, of his own accord, to an 
inebriate asylum.” How John’s heart beat! 
Would it come out any way that his mother 
was at such a place? If it did he thought 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


149 


he should grasp his hat, and run off some- 
where, — down into the river, or up, miles 
away, to John Brown’s Tract, and never 
come back. The talk was flowing on, ruth- 
lessly, over his unspoken agonies. “ There’s 
some hope for him, you see, because he has 
gone voluntarily. People sent there by their 
friends, without any interest in the cure 
themselves, seldom get any help, so the 
statistics say.” 

‘‘ I know a fellow,” said Sam, “ a rich 
chap, from our town. He got to be a drunk- 
ard, and he was ashamed of it. He sent 
himself to an asylum double quick ; and, 
after a while, he was thought cured, and was 
sure of himself, I can tell you. He started 
for home. His mother and sister lived there 
alone : they were glad enough. But, if you’ll 
believe it, he got tempted to try a sling on 
his way home, and he was carried into his 
house dead drunk and put to bed. Next 


150 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


morning, when he got his peepers open, and 
realized how' matters had gone, he thought 
he’d kill himself ; he said as much out loud, 
and made a dash for his razor. His sister 
had been sitting at the foot of the bed out 
of sight. ‘ No you don’t, not this time,’ she 
says ; so she flung the razor out of the win- 
dow, and offered to go back with him to 
the asylum, and try it over again. He had 
learned enough to put no confidence in him- 
self ; and the next time he came out ‘ right 
side up with care,’ and he’s staid so ever 
since.” 

“ I’ve heard of one fellow,” said John, 
“ who went back the third time, and has 
held out sober since that.” 

John thought the talk on this dangerous 
theme would never end. 

“ It is a fact,” said ^e student who had 
opened the conversation^ “ that when once a 
man has become accustomed to the use of 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


151 


liquor, he is liable, after any length of absti- 
nence, to fall a prey again, if he takes just 
one glass . One glass with a reformed drunk- 
ard does not go alone. If he gives it up, 
he must touch not, taste not, handle not, 
afterwards.” 

“That’s so,” said a youth who had not 
before spoken : “ if he is persuaded into one 
glass, he’s a gone fish. I had a cousin 
who reformed and was temperate ten years, 
and somebody got him to drink just once 
with him, and he went from bad to worse, 
and died of delirium tremens.” 

“ The only man who has self-control, is 
he who never drank,” said the leader of the 
discussion. 

“ Then,” ventured John, “ there are few 
of us here who have self-control.” 


“Doctor Day has discovered, by microscopic examination, 
that alcohol opens a series of cells in the brain, which never 
after wholly collapse, and thus while life lasts, they remain 
always ready to receive the invisible demon. For this reason 
there can be no permanent cure for drunkenness .” — New 
York Tiibune. 


152 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“ Ajid you are getting farther and farther 
from it all the time,” said the young man : 
“the best way is to quit all use of liquors. 
For my part, I like to stand up before heaven 
and earth a free man^ not the tool of any 
habit. I’d as soon be a negro slave, toiling 
in the rice fields, as a slave of King Demi- 
john.” 

“ So had I,” said John ; “ but I hold that 
a man that is half a man can drink when he 
wants to, and let it alone when he chooses. 
I can.” 

“ If you’re going to hold to that opinion,” 
said his friend, “ I’m glad I am not in your 
boots.” 

“ I’ll come out as even with the world as 
you will, Lester,” said John, tartly. 

College Faculties are generally wide awake 
to the ways of “ the boys,” and the charac- 
teristics of each one are pretty well known. 
John, while liked for many good points. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


153 


and respected as a diligent and gifted stu- 
dent, was yet suspected of indulging in 
whiskey potations, and hanging now and then 
about bar-rooms and saloons. Going one 
afternoon off the Campus, arm in arm with 
Joe, they were quietly followed by one of the 
professors, a thin, elderly man, who wore a 
brown cloak, and a low-crowned, flapping- 
brimmed white felt hat. The lads called him 
“ Quaker.” “ Quaker’s giving us chase,” 
said Joe, softly; “he thinks we’re going to 
a saloon. Come on down toward ‘Sherry 
Corner.’ ” This was more than half a mile 
away, and, as the boys walked on laughing, 
never looking back, the professor came after, 
thinking the walk long, but the end good. 
He was sure they were going into the saloon 
at Sherry Corner. That reached, “ Wheel 
to the right,” whispered Joe ; “ faster now ; 
we’ll make tracks towards the ‘ Bridge 
House.’ ” That lay on the river bank, nearly 


154 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


a mile off, not a reputable place at all ; and, 
as the tired professor hurried to keep his 
game in sight, he groaned inwardly, but was 
resolved to follow them down, if they were 
shameless enough to go for bad whiskey to 
the “ Bridge House.” 

“ Wheel to the right again ! ” chuckled 
Joe, Bridge House attained. “ This path’s 
none of the smoothest. Don’t your legs ache, 
John ? Mine do. Double quick, now : I’ll 
lay you a dollar the Quaker’s legs ache worse 
than ours. Here’s his pay for tracking us. 
Straight as a die now for Tompkin’s Sta- 
tion!” 

Half a mile more. There was a bar-room 
at Tompkin’s, and the professor thought his 
boys had come a roundabout way to reach 
it. He felt stiff and sore ; but the boys ap- 
peared unconscious of the chase, and he was 
undoubtedly in for it. Tompkin’s Station 
was reached. “ Now, John, my lad,” said 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


155 


the tireless Joe, get your breath, and we’ll 
trot home like a lightning express. The 
Quaker’s in for it. This is his best road 
home, if he ever expects to get there ; and if 
he don’t remember this square we’ve taken 
him about for a few days, I’m out of my 
reckoning.” 

Between them and the College were several 
grog-shops, and the professor felt himself 
bound, as Joe said, to put in his best strokes, 
for fear the boys would get in and out of one, 
unseen. On they went, and reached the 
Campus just out of sight of their pursuer. 
They coolly leaned against the fence, joking, 
and watching a game of ball. 

There, he heaves in sight round that 
corner, John,” said Joe. Holy Peter ! isn’t 
he tired ? Now keep your face straight while 
I overhaul him.” The chagrined professor 
came along. Joe politely held the gate open, 
and lifted his hat. ^oocZ-evening, Pro- 


156 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


lessor : been out walking ? So have we ; 
we’ve stretched ourselves nicely ! ” 

The professor having disappeared behind 
his own front door, the lads sat down under 
a tree, and laughed immoderately. “ It’s the 
best joke of the season,” said Joe. 

John, lying awake that night, the moon- 
light coming in at his windows, and Sam 
snoring at his side, began to think it was 
not so good a joke after all. He had been 
suspected of being a hanger-on of taverns 
and low saloons, — a tippler ! His cheeks 
flushed hotly. What would pure-minded Aga- 
tha, what would his gray-haired father say? 
He was almost ready to forswear all places 
where liquors were sold, all liquors them- 
selves, forever. 

He could do it, he said ; and we say yes : 
he could. Why did he not? He thought 
what the boys would say ; he thought ‘‘ how 
a little tip brightened him up somehow : ” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


157 


lie did not like to call himself a coward, 
and get behind a pledge as a fence for safety, 
so he told himself. ‘‘ I’ll quit for a while,” 
said John. “ I can paddle my canoe, in spite 
of demijohn.” 

It has long been a custom among Christian 
nations, to observe an annual day of prayer 
for schools and colleges. This day of sup- 
plication yearly proves true the promise, 
“ Call, and I will answer ; ” for ever, in a 
greater or less degree, the influences of the 
Spirit descend, like dew or showers, and the 
time of prayer becomes frequently the spirit- 
ual birth-time of the youth. Such day of 
prayer had come; and, when Agatha went 
alone to the house of God, the case of her 
young brother lay heavy on her soul. She 
besought God as one who could not be de- 
nied. 

Now was the golden hour of opportunit} 
for John. A deep seriousness pervaded the 


158 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


college ; the spiritual as well as the intel- 
lectual interests of the pupils pressed on the 
Faculty. John, with others, felt the drawings 
of divine grace ; he pondered should he cast 
himself helpless and suppliant on heavenly 
mercy? Lester and Sam came out boldly 
on the Lord’s side : they were not ashamed 
of the cross of Christ ; having found that 
good thing, the peace of God, they desired 
that others should possess it also. At this 
time, Joe was a serious hinderance to John. 
He was a dashing, witty boy, ever on the 
alert for amusement ; a boy accustomed to 
domination among his mates. 

“ I don’t object to religion,” said Jqc to 
John; “but let us have a taste of life first: 
we’ll try the world before we try Metho- 
dism;” by which title Joe meant religion. 
“Piety, John, is more becoming to women 
and old fogies, than to jolly young larks, 
like you and me.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


159 


A voice from John’s inmost soul suggested, 
that Death, the Archer, shot down many jolly 
young larks even in their jolliest prime. 

Come, fellows,” said Sam and Lester, 
“ cast in your lot with us, and you’ll never 
repent it : we will bring you where you will 
yet do good.” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Sam : “ we’ve found a safe 
anchorage and a strong anchor.” 

“We don’t want anchorage,” quoth Joe: 
“we’re bound on a cruise — eh, John?” 

“ Well,” said Lester, “ you must have 
a compass and a chart, or you’ll meet un- 
expected shipwreck.” 

“Come, now,” said Joe, “we’re only a 
proof of scriptural veracity. ‘ Two shall be 
sleeping in one bed, and one shall be taken 
and the other left.’ John’s, lost his room- 
mate in the good cause, and I’m out, on your 
account, Lester. I don’t see but we’d better 
trade chums ; you two saints can get to- 


160 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


gether, and John and I — poor saints — 
will grub out G-reek roots, and haze the Sophs 
alone.” 

Meanwhile John stood silent. Joe’s reck- 
less jeers jarred on his spirits. “ The path 
of the just wa% as a shining light, shining 
more and more unto the perfect day.” He 
knew it ; he was almost persuaded to enter 
on that path and run toward heaven. John 
hesitated ; and in that hesitation what gra- 
cious possibilities slipped beyond his reach! 
How could he hesitate, when powers of 
heaven and of hell were striving for his 
spirit, when hesitation meant bitter and com- 
plete defeat. 

“ I believe,” said Lester, much distressed 
over John, “that it is John’s liking for a 
glass of liquor now and then that is keeping 
him back from religion. If we could get 
him to sign the pledge, Sam.” 

“ You mention it then,” said Sam. “ I 
can’t: he’ll flare up in a minute.” 




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JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


161 


“ We’ll sign a pledge ourselves,” said 
Lester, “ and then we can ask him with a 
better grace. Let us get up a College Tem- 
perance Society.” 

‘‘ Done,” said Sam ; and to work they 
went. A tutor and two of the professors took 
much interest in this movement, and the 
society was soon organized. Lester urged 
John to join it. If John had yielded to good 
counsel then, he would doubtless have been 
able to keep his pledge. King Demijohn 
was not yet stronger than John’s word of 
honor. But John would not be so bound. 

“ Sign and be safe,” said Lester. 

“I am now safe,” said John. “Do you 
think I would give up my prospects, my 
credit, my influence among men, for drink ? ” 

“ Not now,” said Lester ; “ but you know 
not whereunto this thing will grow. If the 
beginning of strife is as the letting out 
of water, so is the beginning of liquor-drink- 
ing. Leave it o.T before it be meddled with.” 


162 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“ You and I may meet somewhere in life 
after our college days are ended, Lester,” 
said John, angrily : “ see, then, if I am not 
as strong a man as you.” 

“ You may be a better man, as you have 
more ability naturally than I,” said Lester, 
mildly. “ You can insure success by forever 
abjuring that which may lead you astray.” 

‘‘ My success is sure now,” said John. 
“ I am not so weak as to need a pledge to 
keep me upon jny feet.” 

Summer came, examinations were passed ; 
John stood high in his class. His father 
and Agatha were coming to commencement. 
Agatha, ever anxious for her brother’s hap- 
piness, had proposed that he should get up 
a hunting and fishing party to camp out 
on one of the Thousand Islands, for a week 
or two. She even thought their father would 
go with them, and so renew his youth. John 
asked Lester and Sam to join him on the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


163 


excursion ; so also he invited Joe. “ You’ll 
have to toe the mark before Agatha, Joe,” 
he said, laughing. But, in the midst of all 
these bright anticipations, came over the 
wires bad news for John. He must go home 
in haste, for his father lay at the point of 
death. Here he could prove the hollowness 
of the friendship of the wicked, for Joe slunk 
away from the sight of John’s distressed 
face, while Sam and Lester hurried about, 
packing his valise, getting his tickets, and 
promising to pack his books and clothes, 
and send them on after him. So, by their 
help, in half an hour he was hurrying to 
his home. 

Doctor Hathway met John at the door 
with a cordial and sympathizing hand-clasp. 

“Is father living?” asked John. 

“ He will probably hold, out a few hours 
longer,” said the doctor. 

John rushed by him towards his parent’s 


164 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


room. At the turn of the stairs, Agatha 
met him, and clasped him in her arms. 

‘‘Let me go to father,” said John. 

“ Wait a little,” whispered his sister. 
“ He asked us all to go out, that he might 
talk to mother alone.” 

“ Is mother here ? ” gasped John. 

“We sent for her, and she got here at 
daybreak. Doctor Hathway’s son went for 
her.” 

In the dim light of that upper landing, 
the brother and sister stood facing each 
other. Tears rained over Agatha’s white face. 
John was greatly moved: he had seldom 
seen his sister weep. 

At last the bedroom door was set open. 
John and Agatha entered. Mrs. Stafford 
sat near the head of the bed, her face 
hidden in the pillow, weeping bitterly. 
John’s whole thought was with his dying 
father. He knelt beside the bed. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


165 


“ I am glad you have got here, son. I 
shall soon be away from you all.’’ 

The attendants had gathered at the foot 
of the bed ; the doctor was near his patient’s 
pillow ; on one side were John and Agatha ; 
but on the other sat the poor erring wife 
weeping alone. Agatha saw it. It was her 
nature to stand by the fallen, to comfort 
the weak. She left her brother, and, going 
to Mrs. Stafford, threw her arm protectingly 
about her. Her father noticed the action : 
his look thanked his daughter ; yet he felt 
that by the mother, in the hour of grief, 
should stand her son, the only one of her 
children who had been left her. 

‘‘ John,” he faltered, “ John, never neg- 
lect your mother.” 

never will,” said John, gently. 

‘‘ John, never grieve or desert your sister ; 
she has been like a mother to you.” 

‘‘ Never, father,” said John ; now his whole 
heart was in his speech. 


166 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ John, be a strong man, a good man ; 
do a man’s work in the world, and never 
do anything to bring reproach upon your 
father’s name.” 

Mr. Stafford was a moral man, a highly 
respectable man ; but he was not a Christian 
man, and he had no Christian counsels or 
benedictions to leave his son. Agatha felt 
the terrible want, and it increased her sorrow 
tenfold. 

At night, the lonely family sat in the par- 
lor ; the rose-vines swayed in at the open 
window ; the breath of the flowers floated 
from the garden; royal summer reigned in 
field and wood, and over her beauty the 
starry hosts were watching. No words 
were spoken by the bereaved three : theirs 
was a grief too deep for speech. 

Agatha, rousing from a deep muse, saw 
that her stepmother had softly left them. 
She rose, oppressed with care, and looked 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


167 


for her through the quiet house. She was 
not in the solemn room where her dead was 
lying ; but, in the room where her husband 
had died, she stood by the dressing-table, 
pouring some brandy from a flask that had 
been brought there for the patient’s use. 

She started guiltily as Agatha entered. 
The girl took the flask and glass from the 
woman’s unresisting hand. 

“ Mother,” she said, reproachfully, ‘‘ did 
you not promise father that you would drink 
no more ? ” 

Mrs. Stafford sat down in a chair near 
her, and groaned aloud. 

“ Agatha, I canH let it alone.” 

Agatha felt as much pity as either anger 
or contempt. 

“ Suppose you go to bed, mother, and I 
will sit by you till you fall asleep.” 

Mrs. Stafford consented, and Agatha sat 
reading chapter after chapter from the Bible, 


168 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


in her low, musical tones, until the unhappy 
woman was unmistakably asleep. 

Then she went out for Sara. 

“ Sara, go about the house and collect 
every drop of wine, brandy, or liquors of 
any kind, and have Nick box them up nicely 

and send them to the Street Hospital, 

Boston, before he goes to bed.” 

Sara scrupulously obeyed. 

“ Bless her soul,” she said to Nick, re- 
ferring to Miss Agatha, “ it’s a hard burden 
she has to bear. For my part, Nick, it’s my 
resolve that I’ll stand by Miss Agatha, as 
long as I’m a living woman. She ain’t had 
all her troubles yet, it’s my idee.” 

Next morning, the Statford mansion stood, 
for the first time since its building, purged 
from every drop of liquor that could intox- 
icate. 

The next morning, an hour before the 
funeral, John and Agatha stood by their 
father’s open coffin. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


169 


“Agatha,” said John, “this is a hard 
thing for both of us ; but you shall never 
miss anything I can be to you. You are 
going to have heavy trouble with poor mother, 
I think ; and you are more patient with her 
failings than I am, and I thank you for it.” 

“ She has been a great help and comfort to 
me. Years ago, I don’t know what I should 
have done without her,” replied Agatha, ever 
more ready to think of the good past than 
of the had present. “ But, John, since we 
see what misery intemperance can bring, let 
us be forever against it.” 

“ With all my heart,” said John, cordially. 

“ I am drilling to take a pledge,” said 
Agatha. 

“ Nonsense ! you don’t need it,” returned 
John. 

“ Perhaps not ; but I am willing to take 
it, all the same. Are you ? ” 

“ No ; I am not. It is a coward’s vow. 
But, Agatha, by this coffin, I solemnly prom- 


170 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


ise you never to be intoxicated, and there’s 
my hand on it ! ” 

How much better if John had promised 
never to taste the fatal cup ; but Agatha 
dared press the matter no further. 

At that very time, Mrs. Stafford, wretched 
over her husband’s death, and mortified at 
thought of seeing former acquaintances, was 
craving a glass of liquor ; and finding the 
house emptied of it, gave Nick money to go 
to the druggist and buy a little for medicine. 

“ Sara,” said Nick, in conference with the 
maid behind a lilac bush, “ here’s this money. 
I daren’t tell her I couldn’t go, and I ain’t 
to be made a party to breaking Miss’s heart. 
Whatever will I do with the change, for go 
I’ll not.” 

“ Keep out of sight,” said the wily Sara, 
“ and I’ll hand the money to Miss, and tell 
her I guess it belongs to some of them. 
She’s that taken up grieving she’ll not no- 
tice.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


171 


Agatha appreciated her stepmother’s feel- 
ing. She kept close beside her, confronted 
her with kind looks and words, and, as 
friends were kind, and gathered about them 
with a sympathy ignoring past errors, the 
widow got through the day pretty well. 

The question, what was to be done with 
Mrs. Stafford, was a perplexing one. Mr. 
Stafford had left Doctor Hathway guardian 
to John ; and the third of his property, left 
for the use of his wife during her life, was 
left in trust in the hands of an old friend. 
Mr. Stafford had advised his wife to return 
to the Asylum unless she was sure she was 
cured. It was evident that she was not 
cured ; but she did not want to go back. 
She fairly hated the Asylum. “ It is strange 
she dislikes it so,” said Dr. Hathway. “It 
is truly a beautiful home — fine building, 
grounds, every convenience, every comfort, 
every luxury ; servants in plenty, the best 


172 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


of fare, even good society and religious priv- 
ileges.” 

This was all true ; but Mrs. Stafford said 
she would not return. 

Well,” said Agatha, “ John will be away, 
and I have no one else to care for. Let 
her stay here, and I will try and cure her, 
or keep her from . injury, myself. She was 
good to me, once — very good.” 

Agatha urged John to spend part of his 
vacation, as he had intended, so that he 
might be fresh for the next year’s studies. 
She disliked to have him go off alone, for 
she knew he would be exposed to many 
temptations ; but she said to herself that 
John was no longer a child — he must meet 
the world, face to face, as a man. 

He was to go forth, for pleasure and for 
duty, from his shadowed home. She fol- 
lowed him with her prayers. Agatha had 
need of prayers. Her stepmother would 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


173 


drink. First one and then another, of ser- 
vants, neighboring children, or strangers, 
would she bribe to bring her liquor, and to 
liquor she had added opium. She was never 
rude, noisy or cross, when under the in- 
fluence of these poisons. She would steal 
off* to her room to indulge her craving, in 
secret, and then, as realizing her helpless- 
ness, lie quietly on her bed, waiting for the 
torpor that never failed to come. With this 
woman in the house, Agatha was a prisoner 
in her home. She was ashamed to invite 
friends. She dared not go much abroad. Ex- 
cept to attend church services, she rarely 
went beyond her gate. Her flowers, her pet 
birds, her books, and her painting were com- 
panions. A settled gravity and tender sad- 
ness came upon her face. She was not made 
old, sour or haggard ; hut quietly her youth 
and prettiness died, and a noble, chastened 
face told of a spirit purified by its woes. 


174 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Looking back over the past, she ever felt 
thankful for her decided dismission of Ralph 
Curtis. He was a skilful and popular law- 
yer, rising rapidly ; but men said, one to 
another, “ Curtis was drunk to-day ; Curtis 
was drinking last night. He cannot go this 
course very long.’’ 

“ One thing,” said Agatha, “ I shall never 
have the grief to be — a drunkard’s wife.” 

Good friends were watching over Agatha, 
and, when two years had gone by in this 
miserable guard of Mrs. Stafford, they began 
to protest. Permission from the Court must 
be obtained to gain the habitual drunkard 
the refuge of the Asylum, if they would re- 
ceive her. This being accomphshed, Agatha 
determined to close her house for a season, 
and give herself needed rest by going where 
John was at College, and securing board, 
that she might have the pleasure of being 
near her brother during his Senior year. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


175 


When John had been at home for his 
vacations, he had been a great comfort to 
his sister. She could see no fault in him ; 
his one failing had not obtained the mas- 
tery yet, and was always held in check by 
Agatha’s presence. In the eager race for 
superiority, in the darling hope of master- 
ing his competitors and coming out with 
first honors, the crack student of his class, 
John had little leisure for frolicking or for 
wine suppers. He left the first for “ Freshs ” 
and Sophs ; ” the last, for idlers of the 
Senior year. Yet John had imbibed the no- 
tion that wine stimulated the brain so as 
to fit it for intellectual exercise ; and fiery 
wines, and crackers soaked therein, often 
served him for a dinner, or as a refection 
during some long night of study. “ Wine 
and brains ! ” cried John, when Lester had 
warned him that evil would ensue. Lester 
had now finished his collegiate course, and 


176 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


was attending medical lectures. “ I’ll beat 
you in our profession, yet, Lester ! ” said 
John. 

Sam, John’s room-mate, still was plodding 
on. Not as keen as John; but thorough 
and true, beloved and respected of all his 
friends. “ Sam Snail,” John jokingly called 
him. Sam was to study for the ministry. 

Joe had left college, in dire disgrace, — 
expelled. John loftily said, “ I told him so. 
Joe hadn’t the least morsel of self-control ; a 
little liquor would get into liis head, and make 
him act like a fool. He didn’t know enough 
to let it alone, as, under those circumstances, 
he should have done. As for me,” said 
John, “ I’ll not knock under to a whiskey 
jug. I’m as strong, any day, as King Dem- 
ijohn.” 


CHAPTER V 





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ax with 

HE long-ex- 
pected com- 
m e II c e m e 11 1 
was draw- 
ing near. 
John, with all 
college honors, 
was to leave 
his Alma 
Mater. In 
the midst of 
the excitement 
of the last preparations, Agatha received a 



179 


180 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


letter from the superintendent of the asylum 
where Mrs. Stafford had been placed, saying 
that the poor woman had made her escape 
from their care. Agatha at once returned 
home, hoping that her step-mother had gone 
thither ; but, nothing having been heard from 
her, she engaged several people to prosecute 
a search for the fugitive, and then returned 
to her brother. She carefully concealed 
from him the evil news of his parent, for 
she would have nothing mar the proud and 
joyous hour of his well-earned success. 

Commencement over, John urged his sister 
to take a pleasure trip with him, and, anxious 
ever for his gratification, she consented. One 
thing deeply grieved her. John always con- 
cluded his dinners with a bottle of wine ; 
and she knew he was frequently laughing and 
joking, and taking a glass of liquor at the 
bar in the hotels where they stopped. John 
felt himself now “ too much of a man ’’ to 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


181 


defer to his sister’s opinion on the subject of 
drinking. He loftily said to himself that 
“ Agatha was a good girl ; but a fellow could 
not be tied to her apron-string, or made an 
old fogy to gratify her whims ; ” and to her 
looks or words of remonstrance he returned, 
“ Let me alone, Agg. I can take care of 
myself. I know perfectly well what I am 
about, and shall never get into any trouble.” 

Their return home was attended with evil 
omen. Uncle Jerry heard on what train they 
were expected, and mumbled over his cups 
that the “ children must have somebody to 
welcome them, guessed he’d go down and 
do a little honor to the young graduate.” 

Pursuant to this charitable intention. Uncle 
Jerry, his hat and coat much the worse for 
many encounters with lamp-posts and side- 
walks, reeled toward the depot. He was 
very much more than comfortably drunk : 
indeed, so befogged were his senses that. 


182 JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 

stumbling upon the platform — to the chagrin 
of Agatha and John, who proposed escaping 
from him upon the other side of the station — 
Uncle Jerry, seeing the brightness of the 
engine’s reflector, and much struck by the 
huge mass of machinery, doffed his hat, 
and held out his hand to it, and, in the midst 
of this salutation, rolled over the edge of the 
platform, down upon the rails. There was a 
cry of horror, and John, springing after the 
capsized drunkard, dragged him by the collar 
just out of harm’s way, as the iron horse 
went snorting on. 

“ D-d-d-on’t be so hard on a fellow. This 
town has the crookedest sidewalks : ain’t-t-t 
one of ’em — but — but is bewitched j’’ grunted 
Uncle Jerry, as his nephew proceeded to jerk 
him into a sitting posture on a sand-bank. 
Some old English poet has pictured to us 


“ Green and yellow melancholy 
Sitting on ye sand by ye sea-shore.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


183 


Uncle Jerry was 

“ Bloated purple drunkenness 
Sitting in the sun on a railroad bank.” 

He bobbed a little, tried a stave of song, 
knocked his hat over his eyes, and coolly 
stretched himself back for a nap. John 
tossed the station master a quarter dollar 
to convey the inebriate to his boarding-place, 
and joined Agatha, who had stood by, watch- 
ing the scene in disgust. 

Uncle Jerry soon gave them more trouble, 
by being turned drunk into the street, and 
everybody refusing to board him any longer. 
Not that he had no means of paying his 
way, for he had enough ; but he was such an 
unconscionable old drunkard no one would 
harbor him. John’s first care was perforce 
to search the town over for a shelter for him. 
Agatha had allowed him to come to their 
house, to prevent his being left on the street. 
The inebriate asylum declined to receive 


184 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


him, and at last board and a room were 
hired at the country poor-house. Upon these 
mortifications, it was hard for Agatha to heap 
another, by telling John that his mother had 
now for some time disappeared, and all 
search for her had been fruitless. She did 
it, however, as gently as she could. John 
seemed fairly crushed by the blow ; but rallied 
in a few days, and joined his sister in attend- 
ing to needed improvements on their house, 
grounds, and furnishing. John was to study 
with Doctor Hathway for a few weeks, until 
the opening of the next term of medical 
lectures in Philadelphia, and expected to 
prosecute his researches into his chosen pro- 
fession during the summers, in the doctor’s 
office, while he passed the requisite three 
winters in the city. 

Agatha thought she would like to go to 
Philadelphia, to be near her brother during 
term-time; but John did not encourage the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


185 


idea. It was troublesome to leave her house 
for so long ; and then the truant mother 
must, if possible, be found and brought home. 

Doctor Hathway was highly delighted that 
his ward had chosen his own profession. 

‘‘John, my lad,” he said, “Dm growing 
old, and want a go-ahead young partner. 
Once you get your M. D., I will take you 
in with me, and, when I retire from my 
practice, you shall have the whole of it ; and 
I’ll retire as soon as I get you on your 
legs.” 

This was kind of the old doctor ; it was 
what he would have done for a son who 
had chosen to practise medicine. Of course 
John thanked him ; but at home he laughed 
at the proposition to Agatha. 

“ I wonder if he thinks I will be content 
to settle down in this rich, spread-out, old 
fungus town, and just be respectable and 
make my living. I’ve more ambition than 


186 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


that. No. I’ve set my mind« on surgery, 
and I’ll come out A number one. See if I 
don’t. I have half a mind to go to Paris 
a year, and walk the hospitals, after I’m 
done in Philadelphia.” 

Agatha resolved that if he went, she would 
go with him. 

In a year, John would be twenty-one, and 
slip out of Doctor Hathway’s guardianship. 
The old gentleman held no very tight rein 
over him; supplying him with money and 
a little fatherly advice being the extent of 
his efforts as guardian. 

But, during this stay of John at home, 
Agatha one day missed from her store-room 
the demijohn, now long empty, and grown 
well-covered with dust and cobwebs ; for, 
as a sign of contempt, that excellent vessel 
was not honored with a furbishing during 
semi-annual house-cleanings. 

Sick at heart, Agatha prosecuted her search 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


187 


for the lacking demijohn, and at length 
discovered it — where years before two empty 
wine bottles had been found — in the far 
corner of John’s closet. 

Agatha’s first feeling was to break the 
offensive demijohn, which she believed in 
league with her brother against her peace; 
then she thought of trying the old game 
of filling the jug with water. It had now 
in it perhaps half a gallon of rye whiskey. 
However she dismissed these ideas. She 
knew that such a course would arouse John’s 
anger, and very likely weaken her influence 
over him. She was much disturbed, and, 
having beguiled John into a fishing excursion 
for the afternoon, sent for Doctor Hathway, 
to take counsel with him. The doctor con- 
fessed that once or twice he had seen John 
in a saloon, and promised to have a little 
serious talk on the subject. Accordingly, 
during one of those last days when Agatha 


188 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


was counting collars, marking kerchiefs, run- 
ning the heels of socks, and storing in John’s 
trunk, slippers, dressing-gown, dressing-case, 
watch-pockets, writing-desk, and twenty other 
tokens of her sisterly love that might be 
of use to him during his term in the city. 
Doctor Hath way elevated his feet to his table- 
top, tilted his chair against the wall, wiped 
his spectacles, laid down a ponderous treatise 
on Diseases of the Brain, and proceeded to 
address some remarks to his pupil, John 
Stafford, A. B. 

‘‘Jol;n, my lad, you are now going off 
to the city, and I do not know but I am 
as anxious to see you do well, as I am for 
my own son. I hope you’ll take no offence 
at a little plain talk from an old friend. 
I see one thing that may prove a stumbling 
block in your way. John, you may be a 
little too fond of a glass of liquor.” 

John flushed. ‘‘ Agatha’s been putting you 
up to that ; she’s stark mad on the subject.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


189 


“ I speak from observation,’^ said the wily 
doctor, resolved not to betray his fair coad- 
jutor. ‘‘I’ve seen you in a saloon some- 
times, John.” 

“ So you have seen nearly every other 
young man you know; and you can say 
of me what you cannot say of most of them, 
sir, that you have never seen me at all under 
the influence of liquor. 

“ That may be,” said the doctor ; “ but, 
John, in the course of my life I’ve seen a 
deal of trouble from mtemperance, none from 
temperance.” 

“ You’ll live to the age of Methuselah, 
if you live to see me intemperate,” snapped 
John. 

“ Yes, yes : I hope so,” said the good-na- 
tured doctor ; “ but, John, you know liquor 
has played the mischief with your family ; 
there’s Uncle Jerry — ” 

“ And my mother ! ” shouted John. “ I 


190 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


thought you’d be the last to throw that 
up to me.” 

“ I didn’t mean to,” said the imperturbable 
doctor. “I’d be the last one to distress 
you, John ; but, my dear fellow, I tell you 
plainly, if you’re to be the man we all want 
to see you, cut the acquaintance of the Demi- 
john, for it will sink you, as sure as you’re 
born.” 

“ I’ve heard enough of this,” cried John, 
angrily ; “ it has been rung in my ears ever 
since I, was able to trot alone. As for the 
demijohn I am not afraid of it. I like it, 
I am as strong as it, and the demijohn and 
I shall sink or swim together ; ” and Johii 
flung himself out of the office: there was 
a good deal of his mother in his composition. 

John Imew the doctor was the truest of 
friends, Agatha the best of sisters ; so, in a 
walk to the sea-shore and back, he forgot 
his pique against them, and by tea-time was 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


191 


as social as ever. He however succeeded 
in throwing out one observation before he 
left home that disturbed his sister exceed- 
ingly. 

“ There’s no use of talking to me about 
liquor. I don’t mean to let it hurt me ; but 
if it is a mania with me, if my liking for 
it is an inherited passion, and it is bound 
to get the better of me, I’m a gone case, 
and there’s no use of trying if I would.” 

Now John did not believe one word of 
this, but said it to tease his sister, and he 
fully succeeded in making her uncomfortable 
by it. 

Jonn had gone to the city. Agatha then 
got her house in order ; brought her hyacinth 
glasses and crocus jar dinette into the sunny 
bay window of her sitting-room; sent an 
order to town for new books ; put her easel 
in the best light ; procured some new patterns 
for needlework ; got her basket of garments 


192 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


for the poor ready to be worked at, a little 
while each day, and indeed mapped out her 
employments for the winter as best she might. 
Her heart was much with John, exposed to 
the enticements of the city ; and often went 
out searching for her lost stepmother, through 
the waste places of the earth. Perhaps it 
was this tender love faithfully calling from 
Agatha’s spirit, that insensibly drew Mrs. 
Stafford homeward. Whether this was so 
or not, one evening, as Agatha sat sewing 
by the fire, there was a tap on the window 
that opened to the porch. Agatha was no 
coward : she boldly unfastened the window, 
and looked into the gloom ; she could just 
see a figure muffled in a shawl. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked, trembling with 
a nameless fear. 

Agatha, it’s me.” 

Agatha grasped the form and pulled the 
woman into the light and warmth of the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


193 


room. It was, indeed, her mother : her hair 
dishevelled, her dress damp with the night 
dews, her old shawl carelessly drawn about 
her, her face wan and haggard, her shoes 
broken from long journeying. 

I’m glad you’ve come,” choked Agatha, 
and pushed her into a chair near the fire. 
“ You won’t go off again, if I leave you a 
minute ? ” 

“ I can’t,” said the miserable wreck, 
wearily. 

Agatha called Sara from the kitchen, then 
stood gazing at her, striving for something 
to say. 

“ Oh miss,” cried Sara, pulling her dress, 
‘‘ what ever you do, don’t look like that.” 

Agatha slowly pointed to the sitting-room, 
and Sara, looking in, understood in a minute. 

“ I’ll light the fire in her room, miss, and 
fix the bed, and get some clothes, and some 
supper in there, in just a minute ; and them 


194 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


in the kitchen need see none of the doings 
until all is right ; ” and in half an hour the 
trusty Sara was ready to escort Mrs. Stafford 
to her former room. Agatha went with them. 
A fire blazed in the grate, the bed freshly 
made was laid open, clean clothes hung 
airing near the fire, and on the table in the 
friendly warmth was a tray of hot supper. 

“ Thank you, Sara,” said Agatha, with 
such earnest voice afe more than repaid the 
maid for her efforts. 

Sara brought warm water and brushes, and 
had soon assisted Mrs. Stafford to be dressed, 
and had put in order her tangled hair. The 
poor wanderer sank into the easy-chair drawn 
out for her, stretched her slippered feet to 
the fire, and began to eat her supper — not 
without shame-faced, anxious glances at her 
daughter and Sara. Agatha’s heart swelled 
as she thought how she had once seen this 
woman the mistress of a handsome establish- 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


195 


ment, the delight of her friends, kind, grace- 
ful, pretty, dainty in attire ; and now a wan, 
uncombed, almost ragged, wanderer, she had 
come to her own house. 

So much for your doings. King Demijohn ! 

‘‘ You may leave us now, Sara,” said 
Agatha, when Mrs. Stafford had finished 
her supper. Sara carried out the tray : 
Agatha sat down on an ottoman facing her 
mother, and leaned her head back against 
the. marble side of the mantel. 

“ Where have you been, mother ? ” Agatha 
had been glad to accord that title once, and 
no errors should ever make her withhold 
it. 

‘‘ I couldn’t bear that place : people had no 
right to put me where I did not wish to go, 
like a thief or a crazy person. I went off 
to Brooklyn.” 

‘‘ But how did you live ? ” asked Agatha. 

“ I had some money, and I sold my watch 


196 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and my jewelry, and I took a few clothes, and 
I did not need much. I’ve done no harm but 
to hide from you — and — you know what I 
always do, that I canH help.” 

“ Drink ? Yes, mother.” 

‘‘ I did it shut up in my room though ; but 
my money was gone — I was sick, poor — I 
wanted a home. I am sorry, Agatha. I 
know I’m a disgrace to you ; but I won’t live 
very long. You won’t send me away : will 
you ? ” 

“ No, mother.” 

Mrs. Stafford began to say something else ; 
but suddenly had a violent fit of coughing, 
pressing her hand to her side in evident 
agony. 

Agatha put a cushion under her feet, 
wrapped a knit shawl about her shoulders, 
and went off to prepare a plaster and a 
cough syrup. Now that Mrs. Stafford was 
washed, combed, and attired in some of her 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


197 


former clothing, it was plain to be seen that 
she was pale, thin, and ill. 

Agatha resolved to keep her at home, and 
have Doctor Hathway prescribe for her. 

During the night, Agatha heard her mother 
coughing, and went into her room. 

“You must put some more pillows behind 
me, Agatha : I can’t sleep lying down.” 

“ How long have you had this cough ? ” 
asked Agatha, as she brought the pillows. 

“ About six weeks. I take opium for it : 
can’t you give me some ? ” 

“ No, mother,” said Agatha ; “ but,” she 
added, lighting a night-lamp, “ I can make 
you a cough tea that will soothe you I think.” 
Mrs. Stafford, bolstered up in her bed, 
watched Agatha, as, with her waves of silken 
hair falling over her shoulders, her blue 
merino wrapper, belted about her waist in 
careless haste, she went patiently to work to 
make something to ease her distress. 


198 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


« I’m glad I came back, Agatha, she said : 

you were always good to me.” 

Agatha made no reply ; but faithful mem- 
ory called up a time when she herself had 
tossed with fever in a restless pain, and over 
her pillow, through the watches of the night, 
had bent this woman, then young and fair. 

The good deeds Mrs. Stafford had sown in 
her better days were bearing now ; had borne 
for years, good harvest for her time of 
need. 

It did not take Doctor Hathway long to 
make up his mind as to his patient, when 
Agatha had summoned him next day. He 
said the use of liquors, as is frequently the 
case, had induced consumption. There was 
no help for her: she would go down more 
or less quickly. All they could do was make 
her comfortable, — keep up, by care and nour- 
ishment, her failing strength, and, by depriv- 
ing her of whiskey and opium, endeavor to 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


199 


have her mind clear of those momentous 
themes suitable for a soul just drifting into 
eternity. Here was a hard trial for Agatha ; 
but she had faithfully borne lesser burdens, 
and was so prepared bravely to carry this. 

There are but few young men whom the 
knowledge of the possession of property does 
not, in some measure, injure. Our friend 
John was no exception to this rule. The 
fact that he had inherited from his father 
a comfortable fortune, made him extravagant. 
He had never before been thrown into the 
allurements of city life. John had a noble 
ambition to succeed ; but, alas ! he had now a 
very ignoble ambition to “ cut a dash.” He 
selected an expensive boarding-place, and 
soon arrayed himself in very fashionable 
attire. He had a fine watch : he bought now 
a fine chain, seals, a bosom-pin, and a heavy 
ring set with a large emerald. We blush to 
mention these things, lest people begin to 


200 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


think John only a silly fop. It must be re- 
membered that he was a very young man, 
and it is thus that the folly of young men 
exhibits itself. John had finished his course 
at college almost too soon : he was twenty 
when he obtained his A. B. It is a pity he 
had not been two or three years older, and 
then he might have had more mental and 
moral ballast, and been able to go more 
steadily under a full press of canvas. He 
had now spread wide the sails of money, 
genius, good looks, and flattery ; and to other 
eyes than his own, he was staggering under 
them rather extensively. John liked to hire 
a horse for a drive now and then ; he also 
enjoyed going to the opera or theatre : he 
despised cards ; but he delighted in recherche 
suppers for three or four, and the bill from 
the restaurant was generally larger than the 
supper. 

In all concourses of young men, there are 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


201 


about two-tliirds who know well how to turn 
the other third to account. John was one of 
the available minority who was to be put 
through his paces ” to the admiration of the 
crafty of the ring. John had money ; he 
“ was a rare good fellow at a supper : ’’ he 
had wit and ability: therefore he was sur- 
rounded with plenty to help him spend his 
money, eat his suppers, and make their way 
by the aid of his wit. John was to buy 
plenty of books, books needed and not 
needed, and other young men were to be 
kind enough to borrow them ; he was to 
diligently take down notes in lectures which 
absentees or inattentive hearers might copy 
at their ease, lying on John’s sofa, smoking 
John’s pipe, and drinking John’s wine. 

Lester was in the city attending his second 
year’s lectures : he offered to find John a 
comfortable, home-like, reasonable boarding 
place; to introduce him to worthy students, 


202 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and indeed be generally, as in college, his 
useful friend. 

John, however, did not care to have Lester 
for a Mentor ; he thought Lester might possi- 
bly be slow', he reflected that he might be 
given to churches, mission schools, lectures, 
prayer-meetings, and the like, — places not 
fast enough for the scion of the house of 
Stafford. 

Lester knew John’s danger, saw also that 
he was not to be permitted to help him 
avoid them. The previous winter Lester had 
been through this mill. Lester was not rich, 
but he was manly, energetic, well-informed ; 
a man to make his way in the world ; and 
the cormorants of society had unsuccessfully 
tried to feed upon him. Lester knew what 
he was about; he saw through hollow flat- 
teries, flimsy schemes, and mock-friendships. 
Lester would have been worth more to John 
than all his other acquaintance put together ; 
but poor John did not see it. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


203 


One of the sad mistakes of this time was, 
that John went to more expense than he 
knew his guardian would countenance. Doc- 
tor Hathway was liberal : he made large al- 
lowance for John’s free-heartedness ; but he 
would not, to use John’s phrase, ‘‘ come down 
with the dust to the extent John did.” John 
therefore went recklessly in debt, thinking 
that next year his funds would be all in 
his own keeping, and he could pay all arrears. 

One praiseworthy part of John’s career 
was that he never forgot for what end he had 
come to the city : he truly loved his chosen 
profession, and he studied with a zeal that 
recommended him to his instructors. Every 
opportunity for increasing his stock of medi- 
cal lore was eagerly seized, and this eagerness 
was the fertile root of many opportunities. 
The learned men, with whom he came in 
contact, delighted in his ' acquisitiveness, 
honored him with their friendship, and in- 


204 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


vited him to hospital' consultations, and many 
places where other students were not to 
be seen. Still John had a serious draw- 
back, patent to everybody, — his taste for 
strong drink. His friends remonstrated be- 
times. “John, this thing will ruin you,” 
said elder friends. 

“ John, boy,” cried now and then a cau- 
tious companion, “ this whiskey ’ll floor you 
sometime. You’re studying for nothing if 
you keep on drinking. Some day you’ll be 
down where you can swap yourself for a 
sixpence, and nothing to boot.” 

In very deed, John was already staggering 
under the weight of the demijohn he had 
made up his mind to carry ; he had burdened 
himself with a heavy burden, and he would 
not acknowledge it ; he would not drop it ; 
ho got angry if any one mentioned it. John 
had early in life stopped growing, checked in 
his growth by demijohn ; but demijohn was 
growing, into huge proportions day by day. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


205 


Spring came and the term was over, and 
John paid his board bill, and another bill 
or two out of what Doctor Hathway sent 
him, and then came home. His jeweler’s 
bill, his wine bill, part of his tailor’s bill, part 
of his book bill, part of his restaurant bill^ 
and all his livery stable bill remained unset- 
tled. John thought things would slip along 
quietly until next, year — and then — ah, then 
plenty of money would line John’s pocket. 

But these creditors of John had sometimes 
lost money by young men ; they did not hold 
them worthy of implicit confidence, and John 
was followed by bills sent in for payment; 
and, as he coolly paid no heed to them, he 
was favored with threatening letters and hints 
of legal process. 

With these bills John dared not face Doc- 
tor Hathway ; he knew he should stand con- 
victed a spendthrift; and, if the matter was 
not hushed up, his affairs would be in every 
body’s mouth ; and the highly respectable 


206 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


people of his native town would consider 
that “ John was going to the dogs ; ” so John 
said to himself. 

There was but one resource for John ; that 
was to appeal to Agatha’s goodness and wis- 
dom. That he had grace enough to be 
ashamed to do. Agatha was daily spending 
her strength in nursing John’s self-ruined 
mother. Mrs. Stafford was. now confined to 
her bed, a great sufferer, her mind in a very 
irritable, excitable state ; and Agatha had 
to bear patiently with fierce or piteous appeals 
for opium or brandy, or the most bitter and 
unjust reproaches. 

John was also to add another grief to 
Agatha; she was so generous and self-sacri- 
ficing that it was a shame, he told himself, 
to make exorbitant demands of her ; it should 
never happen again anyhow. Indeed, if she 
made him any advance, he would repay it very 
soon. Thus lie reasoned with himself; and 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


207 


when he was driven to death by bills whose 
lengths ashamed himself, he at last went to 
his sister and made full confession. Agatha 
asked to see the bills. 

Now there was one, for wines and liquors, 
which John greatly desired to keep back; 
but that creditor was the hardest of all; he 
would have his money now to the very last 
dime; and, as clear-headed Agatha was not 
to be cheated by roundabout statements, and 
would accept nothing but the bonafide bills 
themselves, John was obliged, burning with 
shame, to hand it over. Agatha looked sur- 
prise and reproach at that bill especially. 

“I didn’t begin to use a tenth part of it 
myself, Aga,” pleaded John. . “The fellows 
had it.” 

“ But was it right to supply the fellows 
with costly liquors, injurious to them, and 
for which you could not pay. Ought I to set- 
tle a wine bill for riotous young men?” 


208 


JOHN AI^D THE DEMIJOHN. 


John hid his face and groaned. 

‘‘It’s beastly , Aga, I know it. I’m ashamed 
enough of it ; it shan’t happen again. I only 
want a loan of you until next year. If I 
don’t pay this, I shall be blown on all over 
town.” 

“If you live at this rate, John, your in- 
terest will barely support you, not pay any 
back debts.” 

“Can’t you trust me?” asked John,' bit- 
terly. “You shall have it if I take it out 
of my capital.” 

“ I did not mean that,” said Agatha calmly. 
“ what I do for you, dear John, I do freely ; 
but I want you to consider, and not contract 
debts trusting to future income.” 

“ This is my most expensive year ; another 
will be so very different,” said John. “ I 
had everything to get. Now I’m provided.” 

xigatha pondered some time, John pretend- 
ing to read; at last the sister spoke: “I 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


209 


can do this for you, John. I will tell you 
how. You know this is an expensive es- 
tablishment for me to keep up ; but I’d rather 
do it, than lose my old home and its customs. 
Mother’s trustees pay something on her ac- 
count, and Doctor Hathway insists on a pay- 
ment too on yours, as you are here part 
of the time after all ; the household uses up 
most of my income, and I have not on hand 
such a sum as you need, and I think it bad 
policy to draw on my capital.” 

‘‘ I don’t want you to borrow,” broke out 
John ; “ that would let the cat out of the 
bag at once.” 

“ I shall not borrow. The carriage and 
horses are mine and I shall sell them. I 
do not need them, and have been thinking 
of letting them go, for, if Nick was relieved 
of the care of them, he could do aU the 
gardening, and save me from hiring help 
there.” 


210 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“You’re very good, Agatha,” said John. 

“If I do this, I hope you will be more 
prudent in future, John.” 

“ Oh, I shall, by all means. I had no idea 
how things ran up. You see the books cost a 
proper pile.” 

“ Not more than the wines,” said Agatha, 
firmly. She thought it no duty to slur 
over John’s short-comings and misdemeanors. 
It was going to be a sacrifice on her part to 
pay this money for him, and she did not pre- 
tend that it was not ; neither did she seem 
to begrudge it, for, as she told herself, whom 
else had she to care for but this same John. 
She heartily wished he were back to the age 
of petticoats, and riding on canes with 
rooster-feathers in his hat, so she might bring 
him up over again, and do it better. 

Agatha sold her carriage and the sleek 
bays that had been at her service. People 
said she was a sensible girl, a real business 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


211 


woman ; it was much better for her to buy 
more railroad stock, than to keep that car- 
riage and fat horses, which she seldom used. 
If it had been known that nearly all the 
prices of these possessions went to Phila- 
delphia, to settle the bills of her thriftless 
brother, how many hands would have been 
lifted in dismay ! As for John, he could not 
bear to pass the stable, and dreaded to look 
his sister in the eye; but, the matter once 
finished, Agatha was not one to bring it up 
again. She was so easy and so kind, showed 
so much respect for John’s new fund of 
knowledge, and so much interest in his suc- 
cess, that, very unfortunately, John began to 
say to himself that “ the little affair was not 
so bad after all.” The summer was not a 
very lively one : John said he was too busy 
to take a pleasure trip, and did not want one 
if Agatha could not go with him. He felt 
that he owed it to her to stay at home and 


212 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


cheer her as well as he could, while she was 
nursing his mother. Sometimes Mrs. Stafford 
rallied, and would sit up for a few days. 
Sometimes she would become gentle and 
reasonable, appear to be concerned about 
her spiritual danger, would be grateful to 
Agatha, anxious for the welfare of her son, 
and seem returning to her former self. 
Agatha and John made the best of these 
sunshine days ; they sung, had duets of 
piano and violin ; had walks to the coast or 
througli the woods ; sometimes a ride on 
horseback ; and at evening, read aloud or 
played chess. 

Sara was an excellent nurse, and, when 
Mrs. Stafford was in a good mood, she was 
willing to be waited on by her ; but at other 
times, Agatha was the only one who could 
satisfy her querulous demands, or hush her 
weary moans. Despite Agatha’s early asser- 
tions that she would have nothing to do with 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


213 


music, she had returned to it, for the grati- 
fication of her friends, and was now thankful 
that she had done so, as John was fond of 
music ; and often Mrs. Stafford seemed like 
King Saul, possessed of an evil spirit that 
would not be calmed, unless Agatha became 
her David, to soothe her with a psalm. 

In the fall, John departed for the city, 
promising Agatha that he would improve on 
last year’s doings, and cut some of his 
frolicking companions. He really meant to 
do this, but good intentions are but feeble in 
a partner of Demijohn ; and, while John’s 
strength was invested in carrying successfully 
this poisonous ally he had chosen, he had 
little ability to live up to rigid rules of 
economy and sober friendship. 

‘‘ You will send for me if mother gets 
worse,” John had said, as he parted from 
Agatha at the depot. His sister had ven- 
tured to leave her mother long enough to 


214 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


make one or two calls with John, and see 
him started on his journey. 

“ I feel encouraged about mother,” said 
Agatha. “ She does not suffer as much, and 
seems much better in her mind.” 

“ She’ll never get better, Agatha ; she 
cannot live much longer,” said John. 

‘‘ I know that ; but, if her mind is quiet, if 
I might see her repent and prepare to die, 
you cannot tell what a load would be off 
my heart,” said Agatha. 

‘‘ Yes, yes, I understand,” said John, 
hastily. 

• Now, soon after Agatha had left home, 
that ne’er-do-weel Uncle Jerry had unexpect- 
edly gone to see his niece, Fanny. Sara had 
been ready to deny him admission ; but Uncle 
Jerry grew loud, and said he had a right 
to make a call. Nick was away, and Sara 
concluded the guest must stop until Miss 
Agatha came. Uncle Jerry behaved very 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


215 


well — was kind, quiet, and entertaining — 
and Sara, thrown off her guard, went down 
stairs to prepare some medicine and her 
patient’s lunch. No sooner had she departed 
than Uncle Jerry pulled out a flask of brandy, 
got two tumblers, some sugar and a spoon 
from the table, and proposed to Mrs. Staf- 
ford “ to drink to her better health.” 

It will set you right up,” said the old 
fiend. 

The love of drink awoke in Mrs. Stafford 
like a demon. She drank what he offered 
and greedily demanded more. More she had ; 
and when the dismayed Sara returned, she 
saw that the cares of months had been frus- 
trated. She called Nick, who was now in 
the garden, to ‘‘ take the old^ villain to the 
poor-house.” 

Nick, full of indignation, was not disposed 
to treat Uncle Jerry gingerly. He pulled 
him into the yard, and bade him mount a 


216 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


lumber wagon which was near the gate, in 
which he could be conveyed to his home/ 
Uncle Jerry was drunk and fractious. He 
would not get in, and, tumbled in, would 
not stay there. Nick then took stout straps, 
and, fastening his feet and hands securely, 
laid him on a truss of hay, and ingloriously 
was Uncle Jerry carried from the scene of 
his wickedness, just before Agatha came 
home, to be, by this new disaster, well-nigh 
discomfitted. From that ill-starred hour, 
Mrs. Stafford’s day sunk rapidly down unto 
its night. Enshrouded in heavy clouds, 
dipped a life that, until almost at its me- 
ridian, had been bright and fair. 

Her death came suddenly, even after such 
long expectation. John was sent for, but 
did not reach home until his mother was 
in lier coffin. After he had been in the 
house a little while, Agatha went with him 
to look at the dead face once so dear. Some- 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


217 


thing of its earlier purity, fairness and sweet- 
ness had come back, as they stood there. 
The dignity of death, the mute appeal of 
that deep, mornless sleeping, touched John 
keenly, and he wept. It was an auspicious 
moment. John,” said Agatha, you made 
me a promise over our father’s coffin which 
I fear you are not keeping ; your mother’s 
death has stirred bitter fears within me for 
you. Shall I ever stand and look on your 
life, cut short by intemperance ; your genius 
and your industry blighted by strong drink ? ” 

“ No, you shall not ! ” cried John, much 
softened. Here, Agatha, over this dead 
hand, I make you a solemn vow not to go 
the drunkard’s way. I will be worthy of 
your goodness, worthy of my father’s name, 
worthy of myself!” 

“ God grant it,” said Agatha. To seal 
your promise, look up to God ; only by his 
good help can you be made to stand.” But to 


218 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


lliis gentle admonition, John could utter no 
amen. 

For the time, Agatha was comforted. 
Every death leaves a void. Mrs. Stafford 
was missed, truly ; but it is a sad pity for 
one so to live and die that their dying shall 
be the uplifting of a heavy load from pa- 
tient hearts. 

John went back to the city, somewhat so- 
bered, a little fearful of himself, laden with 
a good resolve or two. Before Spring, he 
was twenty-one, and his own master. He 
got his fortune, and some good advice. This 
last he flung to the winds, and before the 
end of his third year of medical study he 
seemed likely to fling his fortune to the 
winds, also. He got his M. D. So far, so 
good ; but despite his vow, he was still stag- 
gering under a weight of Demijohn. 


( 

CHAPTER VI. 


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OEAPTER VI. 





E A D Y now to 
enter upon the 
practice of his 
profession, John 
was offered a 
partnership 
with Doctor 
Hathway. This 
he declined. 

“I wish to 
improve myself 
in surgery and 
in difficult practice,” said John, ‘‘ and I shall 


221 


222 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


get into a hospital for a year. I can afford 
it, and I am young enough yet.” 

Agatha was pleased with this decision: 
she had feared John would go to Paris, and 
she felt sure he would fall into dissipation 
in that gay capital, and perhaps never return 
to his native land. She had made up her 
mind that when John got fixed somewhere 
for the winter she would go and board near 
him ; she kept her own counsel though, for 
she thought John would think she was sus- 
picious of him and felt as if he needed watch- 
ing. Part of the summer was spent in an 
excursion to Mackinaw, and early in autumn 
John obtained a position in a hospital, and 
at once left home. Agatha, having set her 
affairs in order, and closed her home for 
the winter, wrote John to meet her on 
a certain day. 

“ I’m so surprised at your coming, Agatha,” 
said John. It was evident he was not as 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


223 


much pleased as surprised. “ I have been 
kept sueh a prisoner at home/’ she replied 
cheerfully, “ that I need a winter’s relaxa- , 
tion ; and of course this city offers many at- 
tractions to me aside from your being here.” 

John was boarding at a hotel. He said it 
was more ‘‘ convenient,” — for convenient we 
may read “ stylish.” 

Agatha said she would like the hotel very 
well, and thither John took her. He was 
very proud of his sister ; he knew she would 
he a great assistance in introducing him to 
good society, but he felt that she would see 
in him many things worthy of condemnation. 
There were now times when John would 
drink so much as to disturb his brain. He 
would not be rude or noisy, but he would 
forget his duty, and was at the mercy of 
any evil counsellor who might choose to take 
advantage of him. He did not indulge in 
this way very frequently, and never early 


224 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


in the day ; yet his habits were known, and 
he was once or twice roundly reprimanded 
by those in authority. John had now just 
as much Demijohn as he could carry a 
little more and he would be a confirmed, 
hopeless, disgraced drunkard. It was utterly 
impossible for him to make any advance in 
honor or in learning ; all he could do was 
to hold his own. If he had let the Demi- 
john go now, — but he told himself he could 
not. He had not lost his ambition, but 
had some vain idea of succeeding, demijohn 
and all. Just here his old college acquaint- 
ance, Joe, came to the hospital for treat- 
ment for a few weeks. He was engaged 
in business in the city, and being laid up 
with a sprained limb, came as a private 
patient to the hospital. John, of course, saw 
him, and they at once renewed their inti- 
macy. They drank together sometimes, and 
drinking now unloosed John’s tongue, and 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


225 


set him to talking, when he had much bet^ 
ter have been silent. Joe was a crafty, dis- 
honest fellow ; he told one of his boon com- 
panions in the city, that “ Doctor John was 
a goose, just ready for plucking.” 

From John, Joe learned a great deal about 
the internal arrangements of the hospital, 
found out where 'some valuable stores were 
kept, and then resolved to obtain the keys 
which were sometimes in John’s possession, 
and carry off some of these costly drugs, 
whereof a moderate bulk might represent 
what was to Joe a sum of money worth try- 
ing for. Joe being convalescent, and about 
to leave tlie hospital, managed to be out one 
evening with John, and got him intoxicated. 
He had bribed a porter to aid him, and 
when they got back to the hospital, Joe got 
from John the needed keys, and then by aid 
of the porter, removed as much as he dared, 
and had a companion ready to dispose of it. 


226 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Next morning John awoke sober, to find him- 
self in Joe’s room and burdened with a 
memory that Joe had had his keys. 

“Hillo, old boy!” cried the cheery Joe, 
“here you are — Richard’s himself again.” 

“ I say Joe, where are my keys ? ” cried 
John. 

“ There on the stand.” 

“ What did you want them for ? No mis- 
chief now, Joe.” 

“ None, upon my soul. I wanted to see 
if one of the little ones would unlock my 
confounded trunk. Come, John, turn out 
and polish yourself up and step after a glass 
of soda water. If any one notices you staid, 
it can be that I had a racking headache and 
wanted you on hand.” 

John explained to Agatha that “ they had 
had a very difficult case on hand, and he 
stayed to watch symptoms.” 

Agatha doubted him ; she noticed his rest- 
less eye and flushed cheek. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


227 


When the loss of stores was discovered, 
John was sure at once where they had gone, 
hut dared not say a word ; he felt very un- 
happy, and his sister saw his gloom, but 
could not bring him to confide in her. 

Yet another trouble grew out of John’s in- 
fidelity. The porter who had aided Joe, con- 
cluded that the young surgeon should be 
to him as a gold mine, to work upon 
occasion. He cautiously betrayed to John 
his knowledge of the affair. 

“ You let him have your keys, doctor,” 
he said — by no means adding the informa- 
tion that he himself had aided in the robbery. 
“ I seed it all. I oughtn’t a kep my muzzle 
shut, but I’m a poor man, doctor, and I 
didn’t like to ruin a young gentleman like 
you, doctor, by ’peachin’ on him. No, I 
didn’t.” 

Thank you, Randall,” said John, ready 
to drop with distress and shame. 

‘‘ Howsom’dever, sir, I don’t know but I 


228 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


ought to let out. It lies on my conscience, 
it do, and I’m a poor man.” 

“ Randall, what shall I give you to keep 
you quiet?” asked John, desperately. 

“ Well,” drawled Randall, “ I don’t hush 
up for money; but seeing you want me to 
keep quiet I will, and as I’m a poor man 
you might hand me over five dollars this 
time, doctor.” 

John gave the sum required. How he felt ! 
What an agony of remorse he endured ! His 
self-respect was gone ; he was at the mercy 
of a low scoundrel, and he dared not confess 
the whole transaction, for fear of the public 
disgrace it would bring upon him. 

When Randall wanted money after that, he 
would only say, slyly, ‘‘ Doctor, have you five 
dollars, or ten dollars, or sometimes he would 
go as high as twenty dollars, for a poor man, 
this morning? The oftener John paid this 
hush money, the meaner he felt; and the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


229 


less ready also to have the miserable affair 
divulged. 

In the summer, Agatha went home, and 
in September John went to visit her. He 
looked haggard and unhappy. The time was 
expired which he expected to spend at the 
hospital ; but he could retain his position there 
if he chose, and he seemed inclined to do so. 
He was not improving much, he drank too 
freely for mental improvement ; the position 
was nothing in a pecuniary point of view. 
Agatha urged him to settle himself some- 
where ; but the springs of action seemed 
forever gone. John was apathetic : he could 
not strike boldly for anything ; he could 
hardly hold his own, to say nothing of an 
advance. Indeed, he believed at times he 
was slowly retrograding. To Agatha’s re- 
marks about settling himself, he replied, 
indifferently, — 

“ I guess I’ll stay where I am another year, 


230 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Agatha. I can support myself, and I’m 
young enough yet.” 

“ You are just living on your income, and 
making no improvement in brains or purse,” 
cried Agatha the energetic. “ Bouse up and 
do something, John. Wliere is your ambi- 
tion ? ” 

“ Asleep, I guess,” said John, moodily. 
“ I don’t feel like looking for anything now ; 
perhaps I will next year.” 

“ If you go back there, I shall too,” said 
Agatha, decidedly. 

‘‘Well,” said John, carelessly. 

“ Doctor Hathway will take you partner 
yet.” 

“ I won’t be tied to that old grannie 
doctor ; he’s fifty years behind the age,” 
cried John. 

John returned from his vacation to the 
hospital, and Randall ever and again fixed 
himself to him like a leech, and sucked his 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


231 


fill. John had now, in small instalments, 
paid the insatiable porter two hundred dollars, 
— the value, indeed, of the property ab- 
stracted from the hospital. He had grown 
angry, and had said, at the last advance, Ran- 
dall must come no more. Randall replied, — 

“ It goes agin me to go for harming a young 
gent like you, doctor. I’m a poor man ; if 
you tells me I can’t come again, why likewise 
I can’t ; but I must say, doctor, this affair of 
yourn hurts my feelin’s a good deal, it do.” 

By Christmas, Randall came again. John 
was in his room at the hotel, next to 
Agatha’s ; Randall was shown up there, by 
some misunderstanding ; John had been 
drinking, and was cross. He stormed at 
Randall ; Randall persisted, saying, “ he was 
a poor man, and must go to the head doctor 
and tell the truth. Ten dollars wer’n’t much 
for a gentleman who wanted things kep’ 
mum, it wer’n’t.” 


232 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Finally John flung a bill at him, saying, 
“ Take it, you greedy carrion ; it is the last 
ten dollars I have in my purse.” 

Now Randall dared not tell of John’s defec- 
tion, as his own share had been great ; but 
this, John — his mind fretted and weakened 
by liquor — did not know. Randall pocketed 
the money and the bad names, and went his 
way. John hid his face and groaned. Aga- 
tha had heard part of this dispute, especially 
John’s last words. She looked from her 
door, and saw a very coarse, evil-looking 
man going down-stairs. Then she went into 
her brother’s room, and sat down by his bed. 
“ John, I’ve known, this long while, that 
something was wrong with you ; and now I 
want you to tell me the truth. I shall always 
stand by you, John, and help you. What 
hold over you has that low fellow that was 
in here? Why must you give him money 
against your will ? ” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


233 


John hesitated a little ; then told her 
the whole of the disgraceful story. 

“ But the theft, John, was Joe’s, not yours ; 
and I dare say this rascal helped him.” 

“ Maybe so,” said John ; ‘‘ but don’t you 
see I betrayed a trust ? I am really respon- 
sible for this loss, and, moreover, if the thing 
is brought to light, and Joe is sought for, 
my part in it will be bruited all over town, 
and I shall be declared a drunkard in whom 
no confidence may be placed.” John seemed 
nearly distracted. 

“ And how much have you paid this fel- 
low ? ” 

“ Two hundred and ten dollars. More 
than the loss was, I believe.” 

“ And do you mean to live at the mercy of 
a low creature, who will, after he has lived on 
your money, surely betray you at last ? ” 

“What can I do?” asked poor John. 

“You can lay the whole matter before the 


234 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


surgeon in charge, or the Superintendent, or 
whoever the proper person is.” 

“It is the surgeon ; but I can’t do it, 
Agatha.” 

“You must : better to confess yourself, 
than be miserably accused by that scoun- 
drel.” 

“ I believe I’ll kill myself,” groaned John. 
“I would if I dared.” 

“That would be the most ruinous thing 
you could do. Write, at once, a plain state- 
ment of facts.” 

“ Then I would have to send the amount 
lost, and, Agatha, I’ve lived expensively, and 
I’ve paid two hundred and ten to this villain, 
and I’ve lent some, for the wretch borrowed 
fifty of me” 

“ When you were not yourself,” suggested 
Agatha. 

“Yes — I do everything wrong then — and 
I’m cleaned out entirely.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


235 


If you’ll write the confession, I’ll get you 
the money,” said Agatha. “ My income is 
more than yours,” she added, kindly, which 
was true, as she had property from her own 
mother. 

John now set himself to write what Agatha 
desired ; but his hand trembled, his brain was 
confused, and his shame and sorrow so great, 
that, after spoihng several sheets of cap, 
he flung himself down, crying he could not do 
it. Then the ever-enduring Agatha came to 
the rescue. 

“ I’ll write it all out fairly, John, and read 
it to you, and you have only to sign your 
name. You’ll resign your place, of course.” 

“ Yes, but I’m afraid you’ll draw it too 
soft on me, and that would look mean.” 

“ I won’t,” said Agatha ; I’ll write as in 
your place.” 

She wrote the document, a fair, straight- 
forward statement, enclosed the check, John 


236 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


signed the confession, and it was sent to 
the proper authority. 

“ We might as well go home,’’ said John, 
sadly “ all is up with me now.” 

When the paper from the delinquent John 
was received, it was well understood who had 
written that honest, clear, elegantly worded 
and penned statement. Agatha Stafford was 
known only to be admired and respected, 
and before she had completed her prepara- 
tions for leaving the city, the surgcon-in- 
chief called upon her. “ Those miscreants, 
Joe Harper and Kandall, should be brought 
to punishment,” he said. 

“To do so would only still more expose 
and disgrace my brother,” said Agatha, 
with crimsoning cheeks. 

“We can let it pass quietly. Randall 
shall be dismissed without a recommenda- 
tion, Miss Stafford. We sympathize with 
you, and hope for your brother’s reform. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


23T 


He is young ; he surely cannot continue to 
distress such a sister.” 

The surgeon had also a long private con- 
ference with John, and then Agatha and her 
brother left the city, where John had failed 
so lamentably, and returned to their long 
deserted home. The place looked itself when 
blazing fires and shining lamps lit up the 
rooms. The old servants were in their 
places, the family china and silver were 
brought out, and the house plants bloomed 
in their sunny windows. 

Agatha had carefully concealed her broth- 
er’s errors from people in her native place. 
John was popular and respected. After they 
had been back a short time, Agatha re- 
solved to spur up her brother, if possible, to 
new exertions. 

“ Get to work, John ; let by-gones be by- 
gones. Go on to a better life.” 

“ Agatha,” said John, “ I don’t believe 


238 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


there’s any use trying. I’m doomed. This 
love of liquor is an inherited taste. I got 
it from my mother, I’m convinced. I have 
always craved it, and I know I always will. 
There’s no help for it.” 

“ Don’t say so, don’t feel so, John ; you 
can reform ; sign a pledge ; be your own 
man.” 

“ That is what I can’t do. A pledge 
wouldn’t help me ; if I can’t reform without 
it, I can’t with it. I believe I’m a gone case. 
I wish I were dead, so as not to worry you 
any more.” 

“John, you’ll break my heart!” cried 
Agatha. “ I cannot see you go to ruin. You 
must come up to a better life. Begin at the 
root of the matter, John. Get the grace of 
God to help you. Make new resolves, John ; 
live here at home where there are less temp- 
tations than in the city. Doctor Hathway 
will be glad of your help yet. People like 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


239 


you, are proud of you, know nothing against 
you. Come, John, let me say to you like 
Eli, — Put away thy wine from thee and then 
go on to better things.’’ 

‘‘ I’ll do it if I can” said John, moodily. 

When Doctor Hathway came to call, 
John fled up to his room. 

“John is not feeling very well,” said 
Agatha to their guest, and it was true. 

“ He’s studied too hard” said the doctor ; 
but Agatha could not assent to this. 

“ I want him to live here. I like no 
place so well, and I do not like to be 
separated from him. Do you wish him for 
a partner yet, doctor?” 

“ Be sure I do, said the Doctor, “ glad to 
get him.” 

“ He’ll come see you soon about it, I 
hope,” said Agatha. 

“ There’s an old friend of yours, just dead. 
Miss Agatha ; died of delirium tremens, com- 


240 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


plete wreck ; Ralph Curtis, you know. A 
happy thing you did not marry him. I 
thought you would, one time.’’ 

“ I could never marry any but a sound 
temperance man, I had seen so much from 
drinking,” said Agatha. 

“ And there’s your Uncle Jerry, laid up 
with pneumonia ; got it just in his drunken 
way. What does’ he do, one snowy night, a 
week ago, hut turn out, drunk as a piper, 
barefooted, in light marching order, and go 
to digging in the snow. “ Hallo, what’s up. 
Uncle Jerry,” says some one, running after 
him, and the old idiot said he was looking 
for a head of lettuce to make a salad. He’s 
booked for dying, this time, sure.” 

Agatha thought of the declaration of Scrip- 
ture, “Their wine is the poison of dragons, 
and the cruel poison of asps.” 

“ I’m right downcast about Ralph Curtis,” 
said the good old doctor. “ He was as fine 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


241 


a young man as one could wish to . see ; a 
very model of form and feature, bright, kind. 
I tell you. Miss Agatha, when I looked at 
him, lying dead there, in the very midst of 
his years, I could only take up the lamenta- 
tion of Isaiah, ‘Woe to the crown of pride, 
to the drunkards of Ephraim, whose glorious 
beauty is as a fading flower ; but they also 
have erred through wine, and through strong 
drink are out of the way. They err in wis- 
dom, they stumble in judgment.’ ” 

John formed a partnership with Doctor 
Hathway. His pride was much broken ; but 
the respect with which he was treated, the 
fact of having something to do, and the 
sneers he began to meet, roused him to new 
energy. He began to do better. Agatha 
and the Doctor were as towers of strength 
to him, and the summer unfolded in prom- 
ise and the autumn came without storms ; 
so Agatha, a true child of hope, took courage 
and looked on to happy years. 


242 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


There was one time when some young fel- 
lows wished to form a club, and asked John 
to join them. He mentioned it to Agatha : 
he told her everything now. 

“ A club ! ” cried Agatha. ‘‘ It is so sin- 
gular that, after the miserable fate of the 
first club, any others should have been 
organized.” 

“ What club was that ? ” asked John. 

“ One formed about the year of the world 
2050 .” 

“ Possible ! ” cried John. “ Well, Aga, 
you are better read in history than I am, 
and youTl have to tell me about it. I don’t 
think I ever heard it ! ” 

It was a club formed expressly for eat- 
ing, drinking, and having a good time. The 
members were ten, — seven men and three 
women. Very exclusive they were, all be- 
longing to one rich family. While they were 
feasting, — and, it is expressly mentioned, 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


243 


drinking wine, — ‘there came a great wind 
from the wilderness, and smote the four cor- 
ners of the house.’ It fell in a moment, kill- 
ing every member of this jolly club. Some 
bystanders saw the accident, and told the 
tale.” 

“ Psha ! ” said John, innocently ; “ I don’t 
believe it is authentic ! Where did you ever 
grub up such a piece of old-world lore as 
that?” 

“ From a very ancient and reliable book, 
once written by different learned men, on 
rolls of parchment, in Hebrew character. 
You will find the account in the first chap- 
ter of the Book of Job, in our Bible.” 

John laughed loudly. “ Taken in, for 
once, upon my word. Who but you, Aga, 
would have set forth Job’s convivial sons 
and daughters as a club ! ” 

“ Anyway, John, I think joining a club 
would be a great temptation to you, — one 
you might not be able to withstand.” 


244 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Pooh ! ” said John, impatiently ; but a 
body must have a little recreation, and the 
club would be of our best fellows.” 

‘‘ You can tell them that a physician’s 
time is not his own. You must be in readi- 
ness for the calls of your patients. You 
know, John, you ought to go to the sick 
with a clear head and a firm hand ; and 
that, if you had been taking wine in your 
club, perhaps you could not do. I have 
been thinking that it is rather dull, and 
have had an idea of starting a ‘‘ Conversa- 
tional ” of a few friends, to meet from house 
to house, for reading, music, conversation, 
and perhaps we might admit chess-playing. 
Speak of it to some of your friends, and 
I will mention the matter to Faith Temple.” 

“ Faith Temple is the -prettiest girl in this 
town,” said John, quickly. 

‘‘ So she is,” said Agatha ; what do you 
say to my plan?” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


245 


“I’ll go in for it,” said John. 

“ And drop the club ? ” 

“ Yes ; drop the club.” 

So Agatha formed what she called her 
Conversational, about a dozen young people 
uniting in it ; and they met in rotation, one 
evening each week, at their houses ; the re- 
freshments were fruits, cake, coffee or lemon- 
ade, no wine or alcoholic drinks being per- 
mitted. John thought it better than a club 
would have been. 

When the winter came, with cold winds 
and heaped-up snows, John yielded to another 
form of temptation. Doctor Hathway gave 
John all the evening and night calls, and 
all those to a distant part of the country, 
on the plea of the younger partner being 
best able to endure fatigue or exposure. 

Going out thus for long rides in the cold 
or storm, shrinking from sleet and sharp 
winds after the warmth and comfort of his 


246 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


home, John would stop by the saloon or 
hotel and call for a hot sling or punch “ to 
warm and strengthen him.” Such tampering 
with Ins appetite was fatal : in less than 
three months he was drinking harder than 
ever. In spite of Agatha’s prayers, in spite 
of Doctor Hathway’s remonstrances, and the 
reproving looks of friends, John was going 
to ruin with headlong speed. 

Agatha’s daily terror was lest he should, 
while intoxicated, make some horrible mis- 
take in his profession. How many schemes 
she tried to send him sober, at least, on 
his daily rounds, and, if he must drink, to 
have him do it at home where the life of 
others would not be endangered by it ! 

How often, when some messenger would 
come to the door, desiring- the presence of 
Dr. Stafford, when Agatha knew he was too 
drunk to understand what he was about, did 
she tell them he was not well or was busy, 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


247 


and send them for Dr. Hathway. She did 
not believe in the conventional not at home” 
when it could only be a lie; but she would 
say he was not well when she blushed to 
feel that drunkenness only had made him 
ailing, or that he was occupied when his 
occupation was drinking. Such doleful days 
as she had passed with her mother were 
coming back again. 

One March afternoon, Agatha met John 
coming from the house of a barber, where a 
child lay sick of scarlet fever. She saw that 
he was entirely incapable of proper treatment 
of a patient, and she trembled for what his 
prescription might have been. She went at 
once into the house, entered the sick-room, 
sympathized with the mother, inquired into 
all the patient’s symptoms, and made herself 
very agreeable. 

“ The doctor’s just given me a powder for 
the child,” said the mother ; “ you see it is 


248 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


on the table. I’m to give it soon. It’s a 
big one : ain’t it ? How would you give it ? ” 

‘‘ In some preserves,” said Agatha, examin- 
ing the portion with apparent carelessness. 
To her horror she found it was morphine 
enough to kill the invalid. 

I’ll go for the preserves,” said the mother, 
“ and give it right off.” Wliile she was gone, 
Agatha hid the powder in her pocket. 

When the woman came back, she looked 
in vain for the medicine. Agatha, blushing 
for her part in the business, helped her. 

‘‘ I must have carried it down-stairs,” said 
the woman. 

“ It isn’t there,” she said, after a search 
below ; and again she searched the bedroom, 
Agatha helping her. 

‘‘ Don’t look any more,” said Agatha. ‘‘ I’ll 
run out and get the medicine again in five 
minutes, either from brother or Doctor Hath- 
way.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


249 


“How good you are!” said the woman. 

Agatha, went to Doctor Hathway, gave the 
symptoms of the sick child, and asked for 
medicine. 

“ John’s attending there,” said the doctor. 

“ But he’s gone off, and she can’t find the 
powder he left,” said Agatha. “ She’s dread- 
fully frightened.” 

“ Here then,” said the doctor, “ take that 
along; and if it isn’t what John gave, he 
may thank you for my interference.” 

Early next morning, when John was quite 
sober, Agatha gave him the powder, saying, 
“ John, what is that ? ” 

“ Morphine 1 ” said John, promptly. 

“ May I take it to-night ? I don’t sleep 
very well?” 

“ Are you crazy ? It would kill you,” said 
John. 

“ Pooh, John ; that’s a dose for a child six 
years old.” 


250 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ A child ! Agatha, a child that took that 
powder would almost certainly die, certainl} 
unless remedies were promptly given.’’ 

“John Stafford,” said Agatha, solemnly, 
standing before him, and fixing her flashing 
eyes keenly upon him, — “ yesterday noon 
you gave that powder to little Lucy 
Horne ! ” 

“ Impossible ! ” cried John. 

“You did. I saw you coming out of 
there — drunk, John ; and I went in, and 
thank God I remedied your mistake. It 
is no thanks to you, John, that that child 
is not lying dead this morning.” She then 
told him how she had managed. I have 
saved your credit and the child’s life ; but 
you cannot expect me always to be at hand. 
John, John, what is to become of you ! ” 
John sat down, hid his face in his hands 
and groaned aloud. 

It was a bitter lesson, and he profitod by 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


251 


it, even beyond his sister’s expectations ; 
he drank no more for several months. His 
friends began to be encouraged about him. 

His next lesson came in another way. 
During the heats of summer, he fell to tak- 
ing iced champagne and iced sherry. When- 
ever John yielded at all, he yielded much; 
his craving once indulged got entirely the 
better of him, and it was only from sum- 
mers heat until autumns frosts that iced 
champagne and sherry were exchanged for 
enough brandy or whiskey to make him 
drunk again and again, and make him the 
subject of sharp remarks. 

He had gone to the barber’s one day, 
and was sitting behind a curtain, out of 
sight of those in the front of the shop, when 
some gentlemen came in, and one presently 
said to another, “ John Stafford is drink- 
ing again. Poor business that for a Doc- 
tor. I wouldn’t trust him.” 


252 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ It is a taste he inherits,” said another. 
‘‘ You know how his mother went ; he will 
follow in her way ; I doubt if he could stop 
drinking if he tried.” 

“ He be a very good doctor,” put in the 
barber. “ His liquor don’t touch his doc- 
toring at all. I’d sooner trust him nor 
anybody. Last winter my little Lucy had 
the scarlet fever bad, and Doctor Stafford 
cured her most wonderful, and he was drink- 
ing then as much as he do now. Doc- 
tor Stafford for me, gentlemen, drunk or 
sober.” 

John heard all. He thought how nearly 
the barber’s Lucy had died under his hands, 
how only Agatha, watchful and ready sister, 
had saved her. He stole quietly out at the 
hack door, left the shop unseen and hastened 
home. They had said he was going his 
mother’s way ; that his ruin was near ; that 
he could not do better if he would. He felt 
humbled to the dust. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


253 


“ Rise above it, John,” said Agatha, once 
more made the confidant of her brother’s 
trials. I do not believe you are doomed to 
die of intemperance against your will. 
Years ago you could and should have made 
a firm stand. It would have been sure 
and easy then ; it is hard but possible now. 
But of this evil, John, strike at the roots. 
Spend no more time hewing down its upper 
growth ; go down to the depths of your un- 
renewed nature, confess your sins to God, 
seek his pardon, his help. By that, the most 
fallen wretch that ever lived can rise toward 
Heaven.” 

John wanted now to be a sober man. 
He truly deplored his drunkenness ; but he 
did not mourn that he was a sinner, astray 
from God. He had no longings to go to 
his Father’s feet for forgiveness. He liard- 
ened his heart, and would not pray. He 
did not open his Bible, he seldom went to 


254 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


the house of God ; hut spent his Sabbaths 
visiting his patients, and reading medical 
works, or the newspapers. He attempted 
again to reform. He gave up his cups, and, 
by a strong effort, abstained from drinking 
for some little time ; hut again he fell. He 
fell, became so drunken that Doctor Hath- 
way regretted having ever formed a part- 
nership with him, and even Agatha entirely 
despaired. At this time, he was called to 
see the wife of a rich and hot-tempered 
farmer, some distance from the town. The 
woman was lying very ill. John went there, 
drunk ; so drunk that he gave the wrong 
medicine, and the patient grew rapidly worse. 
The attendants began to whisper that “ the 
doctor had not known what he was about,” 
and the husband, in high excitement, went 
for Doctor Hathway. At the patient’s bed- 
side, and shown what potions she was taking, 
the distressed old doctor could not deny that 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


255 


an almost fatal line of treatment had been 
adopted. The rumor crept abroad ; was on 
every one’s tongue. People said, ‘‘ Doctor 
Stafford had as good as killed Mrs. Jenk- 
ins ; ” and John, conscience-stricken and de- 
spairing, was ashamed to leave his house. 
Farmer Jenkins was in paroxysms of fear and 
rage. He rushed into John’s house, one 
morning, and, striding up to the unfortunate 
young man, who was sitting drearily at break- 
fast, with his sister, he shook his fist in his 
face, crying, “ If my wife dies by your means, 
you villain. I’ll have the last jot and tittle 
of the law on you, you murderous, drunken 
sot!-” 

John could not answer a word ; but Agatha, 
rising, said, calmly, “ Mr. Jenkins, however 
great my brother’s error and your distress, 
you have no right to enter my house in this 
violent manner, and use insulting language 
in my presence. I am surprised that you 


256 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


have no more respect for a woman, and 
that you forget that Stafford Place is my 
private property, and that you cannot bring 
your quarrels here. I am deeply distressed 
about your wife, so is my brother.” 

So he ought to be,” said Mr. Jenkins, 
dropping his head, much confounded by 
Agatha’s firm rebuke. “ I don’t mean to 
trespass on you. Miss Stafford ; I have no 
call to do it. But you’ll own it’s hard on ^ 
me, this way my wife’s been used with 
wrong medicines.” 

“ That is true, and it is my daily prayer ' 

that she may recover, both for your sake ' 

and ours.” 

And then. Miss Stafford, even if she ■ 

does, just look at the way my house has m 

f 

been thrown belter skelter by being all this ' 

while without a mistress, and the sum of | 

money I’in laying out for doctors and nurses | 

and help.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


257 


“ Whatever expenses have, in Doctor Hath- 
way’s opinion, been incurred through my 
brother’s error,” said Agatha, “ we shall 
most readily repay.” 

The rough, hasty man withdrew, no less 
angry at John ; but ashamed of himself, and 
much awed by that Miss Stafford, who was 
every bit as grand as Queen Victory,” he 
told his hired man, as they sat, that evening, 
by the kitchen fire-place, making brooms. 

Mrs. Jenkins slowly recovered. Agatha 
sent the farmer a check for one hundred 
dollars, which he declared again to his hired 
man, “ was very handsome treatment, good 
enough for Queen Victory.” 

Mrs. Jenkins had recovered ; but John’s 
prestige as a physician was gone. People 
distrusted him ; his help to Doctor Hathway 
was now given in the office almost entirely, — 
making out bills, reading upon cases, and so 
on : but the shock of his mistake, and its 


258 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


consequences had sobered him for a time. 
Dram-shops saw him no more ; the demijohn 
was empty and dusty ; John’s breath was 
untainted by liquor ; his eye was clear, his 
hand was steady ; and kind people — they are 
plentier than we are apt to think — began to 
say, ‘‘That affair at Jenkins’s has been the 
making of Doctor Stafford ; ” friends once 
more gathered about him ; he was called here 
and there, and, at length, seemed floating on 
to popularity and good practice once more. 
To change the metaphor, poor John was build- 
ing the new house of his goodness on the 
shifting sands of his own ability : let a storm 
of temptation come, and it would be gone. 

John’s temptations generally had come 
from his own deceitful heart ; from that heart 
they again proceeded: his craving for strong 
drink came back ; he thought himself firm 
now, he could indulge a little, and still keep 
within the bounds of prudence. He had said 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


259 


SO often before, yet every time proved himself 
wrong. The demijohn again saw the light, 
and was filled at a distant town ; no one of 
his neighbors should know what he was 
doing : ‘‘ they would talk, and their talk 
would drive him to distraction;” the demijohn 
should be locked in his closet, should only 
at suitable times “ minister to his need. He 
wanted something to stimulate his brain for 
study ; something to keep him up for long 
night rides, and busy days,” 

Thus said John : and how true an answer 
might he find in the words of Scripture : 
“ Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging ; 
whoso is deceived thereby is not wise.” 

John was most wofully deceived by that 
wicked spirit of the demijohn, luring him on 
to take that little, which should grow unto 
great ruin. The spirit of the demijohn is 
like the Afrite of Eastern story, which can be 
corked up in a bottle ; but break the potent 


260 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


seal that holds him in, and lo ! he spreads 
from east to west, and towers to the clouds, 
and seizes the puny manikin that set him 
free, and carries him whither he will. Let us 
read it as a parable of the rash man who lets 
loose upon himself the awful spirit of strong 
drink; keep over the Afrite of the demi- 
john the potent seal of Solomon, — wisdom 
to shut it in unseen, untouched forever. 

This wisdom had not John. His life, now 
since he had finished his attendance on 
medical lectures, had not been of improve- 
ment and honorable advance, but a mighty 
struggle to keep himself and the demijohn 
in one place. He fell, he retrieved himself, 
he fell again, he learned nothing new, and 
was ever on the eve of having what he had 
learned washed out of his mind by the use 
of intoxicating liquors. He had gone on, 
from the first childish taste of the demijohn’s 
dark glass rim, to toil and stagger under the 
self-imposed weight. 


F 




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CHAPTER VIL 





ENDING 
John’s efforts 
at reforming, 
in his own 
strength, and 
the beginning 
of a new lapse 
into drunken- 
ness, Agatha, 
a gracious 
‘‘ queen of so- 
ciety ” in her. 
native town, was keeping him, by her potent 


2G4 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


influence, still in a reputable circle of so- 
ciety, and holding liis friends about him. 
People knew well tliat Agatha and John 
stood or fell together, in the social scale ; 
and, if they dropped John, they could no 
more have the good company of Agatha. 
Upheld thus by his sister, John saw much 
of that ‘‘ prettiest girl in town,” Faith 
Temple. Now, when Agatha saw John con- 
stantly seeking Faith, and Faith in no wise 
refusing his attentions, she began to consult 
with herself, ‘‘ whereunto these things would 
grow.” 

Agatha was ready to seize any lawful means 
for John’s reformation. She thought he was 
now doing very well, and that the society 
and affection of such a girl as Faith might 
be powerful to hold him to the right. On 
the other hand, if John fell away to drunk- 
enness, Faith would be sacrificed ; and Agatha 
remembered that she had not been willing 
to marry Ralph Curtis on the poor hope of 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


265 


his becoming a sober man, and that Ralph’s 
future course had fully justified her decision. 
Agatha loved her brother more than her- 
self ; but she loved Faith, as the Bible bade 
her, as herself, and she felt that for Faith 
she should desire such course as she had 
taken for herself. She therefore watched 
John more closely than before, knowing that 
if he were deviating from a right line of 
conduct she should soon discover it. About 
this time John had brought home the demi- 
john full of whiskey, and locked it up in 
his closet. As ever, if he had one interview 
per diem with the demijohn, he soon wanted 
half-a-dozen more, and before long, Agatha 
saw what he was doing. One evening, just 
when this dire discovery was coming to 
crush the hope of better things, John came 
down stairs in his best array, evidently going 
out. It was a clear, chilly, fall evening; 
Agatha was sitting by the glowing grate, a 


266 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


book on the table by her side, ivory needles 
in her hand, and the gorgeous wools for an 
afghan lying in her lap. 

“ Aga,” said John, putting his head in the 
door, “ I’m going out for a while.” 

“ Are you going to see Faith ? ” asked 
Agatha, her eyes on her work. 

“Yes,” said John. 

“ Come here a miiiute, John ; I want to 
speak with you.” 

John came and stood with his hands on 
the back of a chair, saying “Well?” im- 
patiently. 

“John,” said Agatha, gently, “it hurts 
me to say it; but I think you are drinking 
again.” 

John was silent: he would not tell a lie. 

“ John, you ought either to give up liquor, 
or — Faith Temple.” 

“ If any thing would help me to give it 
up, it would be Faith Temple,” said John. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


267 


Then give it up forever, for her sake, 
and wait long enough to be sure you are 
reformed, before you visit her, or engage 
her feelings in your behalf. That is your 
only honorable course, — the only course safe 
for her; for here you are going back to 
drinking just while you are pursuing your 
acquaintance with her.” 

“ I can’t give it up so,” said John. “ I’ve 
tried and I can’t. You don’t know how I 
am pressed and possessed by this thing, 
Agatha.” 

“ Then, John, you must never marry.” 

“There’s one thing, Agatha,” said John; 
“I should never be ugly and rude while I 
was drunk, and I never could reduce my 
wife to poverty as some drunkards do.” 

“ John,” said Agatha, “ let us talk plainly. 
You would not reduce your wife to poverty 
because I have money to come between you 
and that ; your own money is melting away, 


268 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and will go faster and faster. You know, 
John, I would not begrudge you every penny 
I have if it would do you any good. As 
to being cross, John, mother was never 
violent when she was intoxicated, nor could 
she bring me to poverty ; but was my life 
with her these years a happy one ? 

John shook his head. 

“ And, John, it was unhappy because I 
loved her, because it cut me to the heart to 
see the wreck she had become. If the love 
had been dearer, the greater would have been 
my trouble. John, would you want to doom 
Faith Temple to such a care as mine has 
been ? ” 

‘‘ I shall not do as mother did,’’ said John. 
“ I will not go back to what I was last year. 
I’ll be all right. I am now. Good night, 
Aga. Don’t you come between Faith and 
me!” 

John’s elastic spirits had risen again. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


269 


Agatlia thought the matter over many 
times after John had gone. She resolved 
to give Faith fair warning. To Agatha, noth- 
ing was more dreadful than being a drunk- 
ard’s wife ; she would not let Faith drift 
unadmonished on those shoals she herself 
had so narrowly escaped. 

She invited Faith to walk with her one 
day, soon after that: they went toward the 
woods. The ground was strewn with rustling 
leaves ; the frosts had dyed the trees ; and 
the clinging vines, asters, and golden rods 
had lived their day ; the lichens were in their 
glory, and vines of checkerberry and winter- 
green wreathed among the mosses. The two 
girls were as Spring and Summer walking 
through the realm of Autumn ; unseen be- 
tween them a winter sorrow stalked. Thus 
were the four seasons represented, two in fair 
human forms, one in the natural, one in 
the spiritual world. 


270 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


The two friends sat down on a great fallen 
tree, Faith twining her little hat with brilliant 
leaves and fantastic vines, and humming 
meanwhile a snatch of song, from the happi- 
ness of her heart; Agatha sat, her hands 
in her lap, in a perfect quiet which she 
could at will attain, and which had been 
much of a blessing to her in a life too often 
filled with excitement and cares. Sitting 
thus, she told Faith the story of Ralph 
Curtis, told it only as a prelude to a warning 
she must utter, and that Faith might know 
she spoke from experience. 

“ I have never regretted my decision. 
Faith!” 

“ No : of course you have not,” spoke 
Faith, earnestly. “ I think there can be no 
worse lot than to marry a drunkard. It 
would break my heart. I am nearly fright- 
ened to death at drunken people.” 

‘‘ Then,” said Agatha, turning away her 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


271 


head, “ you must never care anything for 
my brother John.” 

Faith was mute for a little while, then 
said, ‘‘ How can you speak so, Agatha ? ” 

‘‘ I feel as if I must warn you. Faith. 
What burden I felt I could not myself carry 
through life, I would not let you, unwarned, 
assume. I verily believe. Faith, that I would 
lay down my life to secure John’s safety; 
but there is no more miserable delusion 
than to marry a man to reform him.” 

“ But, Agatha, John would never get real 
drunk; and he has reformed, and does not 
drink any more. I know it was very bad 
last fall, and people spoke so hard of him ; 
he is sober now, and every one respects 
him. Not,” added the disingenuous Faith, 
“that I care anything for John, only 
as a friend, or a cousin you know ; of course 
not.” 

“ Then,” said Agatha, “ I hope you never 


272 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


will ; for John is drinking again ; it almost 
breaks my heart to say it, and I know you 
will not hurt him by telling it. I talked 
to him lately about it. I love you, Faith. 
I wish my brother were worthy of you, and 
that you were willing to care for him” — 
thus Agatha outwardly accepted Faith’s 
protest ; “ but he is worthy of no good 
woman, until that complete reformation, 
for which I pray night and day, has come.” 

“ What did he say when you accused him 
of drinking again ? ” asked Faith, with an 
effort to appear careless. 

“ He said,” replied Agatha, frankly, “ that 
no one would be so able to make him . what 
he ought to be, as you ; and I told him, that 
over that fallacy many a lovely woman’s 
life had been wasted. No man has a right 
to ask a woman to marry him, to save him. 
He ought to try and be worthy of the woman 
he wants for a wife. I dare say he tells you 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


273 


you arc an angel, Faith. Does the foolish 
boy think any man is worthy of an angers 
affection ? much less, an intemperate man ? 
Let him try to rise nearer that high plane, 
whereon he sets you, before he dares hope 
to bind his life and yours together.” 

We have said before that Agatha was a 
“ strong-minded damsel ; ” she did not ac- 
cept the tenet of feminine inferiority, nor 
did she think marriage was the chief end 
of woman; she belived that to fear God and 
keep his commandments, doing her share 
of the world’s work, was the first duty of 
every woman, and that other things were to 
be taken as they were sent. You may say 
she could hold these theories very com- 
fortably, intrenched behind an ample for- 
tune; but if Agatha Stafford had earned by 
daily labor her daily bread, it would have 
been just the same. She walked quietly 
home with Faith ; after they parted, John 
met his sister at their own gate. 


2T4 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Agatha,” he asked as they walked up 
to the portico, ‘‘ have you been talking to 
Faith about me?” 

“ I have said just about what I said to 
you the other night,” said Agatha, putting 
her hand through his arm ; “for my part, 
John, I stand or fall in your fate ; you are 
my one object in this world ; as long as 
we two shall live, so nature ordains ; but 
while I’m willing to give up all for you, 
no other woman shall do it blindly.” 

After this Faith talked to John somewhat 
plainly, and when he protested that he 
meant to be sober, she asked him to take 
the pledge. There was a society of Good 
Templars in the town which John had 
been solicited to join, and this Faith thought 
he had better do. John would do much for 
Faith, so he joined the Templars. That 
was a happy day for Faith, and Agatha re- 
joiced and feared. 

John “ held fast his integrity ” until nearly 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


275 


Christmas, when he must needs go to the 
city to buy holiday gifts for Agatha and 
Faith. There he fell in with some who had 
been roystering college acquaintance ; his 
pledge was as the new ropes on Samson, and, 
when those Philistines — love of liquor and 
outside temptations — came upon him, he 
broke his pledge ; and, as if gathering momen- 
tum from his recent abstinence, he ran for a 
week a course of riot more miserable than 
he had known before. 

Awaking from this extravagance, he re- 
turned home as much renewed as barber, hair- 
dresser and tailor would compass; but Aga- 
tha read all the wretched story in his restless 
hands and eyes, his crimsoned cheeks, and 
his forced mirth. She looked him in the 
eye, a sad, loving, pitying look ; but said never 
a word. Miserable under a sense of his 
shameful fall, that evening he flung himself 
down on a low seat beside her, and, hiding 


276 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


his face in one of her hands clasped in his 
own, he told his tale. “ Agatha, Agatha, 
can’t you save me ? ” he cried, pitifully. 

In Agatha’s love for her so much younger 
brother, was a mingling of the mother and 
sister; she stroked his curly hair with her 
free hand, and tears ran down her cheeks. 
‘‘Poor John, poor John!” she murmured; 
but she could not yield thus, long : she en- 
couraged him to renewed effort, besought him 
to take courage, and to rise again above for- 
tune ; and long as the evening deepened, she 
talked to him of a changed heart, and the 
sustaining power of heavenly grace. Her 
words soothed and cheered him ; but alas ! 
that was all. They were as a sweet song 
by one who hath a very pleasant voice. John 
was ready to trust to himself, to the love of 
Agatha, to the influence of Faith Temple ; but 
not to the Good Spirit of Truth, who will 
abide in human hearts, and mould them to 
his will. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


277 


Again a fall. The Good Templars learned 
that one of their number had been seen intox- 
icated on the streets. They cut him off ; but 
John repented, Agatha pleaded, the society 
wanted to help him, and he was restored. 

Now it was that Faith Temple, seeing 
John’s weakness or wickedness, and knowing 
what for her was the one course of safety, 
withdrew herself from him, and one while, 
John would rush into excess, saying, “ Faith’s 
coldness made him reckless, and that he did 
not care to save himself ; ” and again he 
would take better thought, and would say he 
would be worthy of respect and love, and 
Faith should see he was a man after all ! ” 

People were again afraid to trust a drunken 
doctor. John had little to do, and idleness 
is a prolific mother of vice. When John 
came to that pass that he got drunk in the 
library at home, and Nick had to be sum- 
moned to take him up to his room, you may 


278 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


be sure that Agatha’s courage was all gone, 
and she felt as if the miserable times she had 
known with her step-mother had come back ; 
yes, even worse times, as John was dearer to 
her than Mrs. Stafford had been, and he was 
all that in this world she had left to love. 

As John had little business, Agatha devoted 
most of her time to finding him occupation 
and amusement. She walked, she rode, she 
fished, she helped stuff birds and make collec- 
tions of shells, she interested herself in all 
that John cared for — except the demijohn. 
They bought a telescope, and studied astron- 
omy ; she had John read to her, and she 
read to him ; she got up puzzles, enigmas 
and conundrums, and often invited friends to 
their house, keeping strict guard over John 
that he would be in proper order to entertain 
them. 

They went out but seldom, as John felt a 
backwardness about meeting those whom he 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


279 


knew distrusted and condemned him. So 
persistent was he about Faith Temple, that 
Agatha, who thought she had now said to 
that point all that duty demanded, began to 
think that John was ordained to be as heavy 
a grief to Faith as to herself — until an event 
took place, which, while it greatly distressed 
both these young women, opened Faith’s eyes 
clearly to John’s vice. 

They were all invited to a party at the 
house of an old acquaintance. Agatha would 
have preferred not to go ; but Faith had con- 
sented to be escorted by John, and he would 
not remain at home. The evening bid fair to 
be a pleasant one ; but who will excuse that 
host who had an antcrroom near the supper- 
room, supplied with wines for the young men 
assembled as his guests ? Supper was nearly 
over when Agatha heard of this provision of 
wine. She wasJn agony, and desired to go 
home ; but John was not waiting upon her, 


280 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and Agatha must remain and endure. Soon' 
poor John, lured by the voices of some chil- 
dren of the evil one, went into that den of 
iniquity, the wine-room. 

Agatha asked their host to request John to 
come to her. John was coming presently.” 

Agatha was attended that evening by a 
genial old bachelor, who, seeing after a time 
her anxiety, said he would “ go bring John.” 
John was not now to be brought. Faith, 
white and crimson by turns, was left to her- 
self. “We must look after Faith,” said 
Agatha; so the bachelor attendant did his 
best to take care of the two anxious young 
ladies. 

The evening passed heavily. From the 
wine-room came ever and anon bursts of 
laughter or of song, jarring rudely on their 
feelings. John had several companions with 

I 

him, and they were rapidly forgetting all 
propriety. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


281 


Agatha burned with indignation against the 
friends who had invited them ; she knew 
they were aware of the weakness of these 
guests, and it seemed a diabolical thing to 
thus lay a snare in their path. 

“Faith,” whispered Agatha, amid the music 
and merriment of lighter hearts, “ I cannot 
endure this any longer. Mr. Benjamin will 
call the carriage, and take us both home. I 
shall send Nick to look after John.” 

Faith gladly accepted this proposal, and 
soon the two were in the carriage leaving 
the scene of so much sorrow and mortifica- 
tion. They were silent until they reached 
Faith’s uncle’s, where she had her home. 
Agatha bent to kiss her as she said “good- 
night,” and felt tears on her cheek. 

When left in the carriage with Mr. Benja- 
min, Agatha exclaimed, “ I never should have 
gone there if I had imagined they would 
have wine. They are both members of the 


282 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


church, and it seems incredible and horrible 
that they will, for the sake of a little more 
display and ostentation, set a snare for 
their neighbor’s feet. I shall never go there 
again.” 

‘‘ It was a cruel thing,” said Mr. Benjamin. 

When I was a young man, I was nearly 
ruined by having my hostess at parties press 
drink upon me. Ladies make many drunk- 
ards, who will destroy the life and happiness 
of other women ! ” 

Nick was despatched to the scene of the 
feasting, and, when John had drank enough 
to become passive, he took him home. Before 
long he was in a heavy slumber, and, hearing 
his deep breathing, Agatha, lamp in hand, 
entered his room and stood at the foot of 
his bed. Just so she had looked upon her 
mother’s inebriate sleep. 

Next day John locked himself in his room, 
would neither admit any one nor come out, 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


283 


and also attempted to drown his sorrows in 
the demijohn. At last, when he was again 
stupid, Agatha had Nick burst the door open 
with his strong shoulder, settle John on his 
bed, and then carry off the demijohn, empty 
it, wash it, and replace it in the storeroom 
where John had first found it, when a little 
merry petticoated boy. Ah me ! for the cane 
horse, the rooster plume, and the baby pomp 
of the little mock doctor ! There lay John 
on his bed — drunk ! ! 

When “ John was himself again,” Agatha, 
by no look or word recalled the past ; she 
felt as if her brother’s case was hopeless, 
and all that remained was for her to make 
the best of it. 

A few days after all this had happened, 
John said, at dinner, “ I suppose you know 
I’m finally exscinded as regards the Good 
Templars.” 

“ I suppose so,” said Agatha ; “ that is 
their duty you know. 


284 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“Yes, yes. The Templars are a good in- 
stitution for some — no help to me. Nothing 
can help me. The love of strong drink was 
horn in my blood ; it is an inherited taste, 
as much a disease as consumption or scrofula, 
and, upon my life, Agatha, it is a good deal 
worse.” 

“It is worse, surely,” said Agatha. 

“ Yes,” broke forth John ; “ better is an 
honorable grave than a disgraced life. I had 
rather die than be the man I am : but mere 
volition can neither kill, nor make alive!” 

“ However powerless you may think yourself 
now, John,” said his sister, “ and however 
much you may say for inherited tastes and 
a craving that amounts to a desire, I kiipw, 
there was a time when you could have been 
your own master, when you could have taken 
and kept a pledge.” 

“It is so indeed : when I was in school, 
or even when I was in college, I was at least 
even with the demijohn,” said John, bitterly ; 


. JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 285 

“ now I am being slowly resolved into the 
demijohn. I am hardly half a man — the 
demijohn is the greater part.” 

What could Agatha say but, ‘‘ Never despair, 
John; try once more; ” and the old assurance, 
“ I shall always stand by you, John.” 

That afternoon John folded his regalia in 
a neat, white box, and bade Nick take it to 
the lodge of Good Templars. That was the 
last of his connection with that body. The 
only trouble was that he had joined it too 
late. 

John had not been near the office, had 
not dared to meet Doctor Hathway for some 
time, when the old gentleman came to the 
house one day, saying that there were some 
patients at the poor house he would like him 
to visit. Uncle Jerry being one. 

John agreed to go, and it was tacitly un- 
derstood between the Doctor and Agatha, 
that she should see that her brother gave 


286 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


proper attention to these sick. Agatlia 
was duly grateful to their old friend, but felt 
that it was only justice to him to have the 
partnership with John dissolved, for he was 
growing feeble enough to need an active 
and reliable assistant, which John would 
probably never be. 

John having gone to the- poor-house on 
his lively black pony, and being shown to 
Uncle Jerry’s room, found that notable rel- 
ative in bed, and not prepared to salute 
him very cordially. Between brandy and 
opium. Uncle Jerry was loud and rude. 

“ Oh ho ! ” he cried, here is the drunken 
doctor ! You are not good enough for town 
gentry, but you come out to see poor-house 
folks ! Now you don’t do any of your 
poisoning round me, nephy. Every crea- 
ture is good, and not to be despised ; like- 
wise it ain’t to be drunk always — not by 
doctors. I say, John, there’s a verse in the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


287 


Bible you’d better learn with alterations : — 
‘ It is not for doctors^ Oh, John^ it is not 
for doctors to drink wine, nor for physicians 
strong drink ! ’ No, it ain’t, John Stafford.” 

“ Uncle Jerry,” said John, as he felt 
the old fellow’s pulse, ‘‘you were one of 
the first to give me wine and strong drink.” 
John was now as much an object of pity as 
of censure ; so severe was his self-condem- 
nation, that he never grew angry at any 
one who reproached or reproved his 
drunkenness. To John’s remark. Uncle 
Jerry responded brightly, “ I didn’t know 
as you were going to be a doctor, John. 
Besides, why can’t you use moderation — 
like I do.” 

“ My moderation is just about like yours,” 
said John, more to himself than to his 
uncle ; “ and it is, in my mind, all that 
moderation ever amounts to.” 

Uncle Jerry watched John while he meas- 
ured out powders. 


288 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ I say, John, be careful now ! I’m a 
keen one, and if you make a mistake I’ll 
know it, and I’ll think it my duty to tell 
it. I know more than you doctors anyhow. 
Hathway told me I’d got to die of that 
pneumonia I had, but I wouldn’t, and I 
didn’t ; and you can’t kill me now, John. 
I won’t be killed. Never say die is my 
motto. ” 

This disquisition having no effect on his 
auditor, Uncle Jerry, from his bed, planned 
a fresh attack. I say, John ! you’re just 
about as much of a Demijohn as of a John. 
He, he ! there’s a joke, and a good one. 
I tell you, lad, before long your friends won’t 
know which is you and which ain’t ! You’re 
being absorbed swallowed; transmigrated, 
something of that sort, into a demijohn. 
Now, John, if after this mortal evil is 
shuffled off, like a snake’s old skin, you are 
permitted to come back to this earth, you’ll 
come as a whiskey jug, or a demijohn, and 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


289 


zounds, John, wouldn’t it be a pleasant little 
encounter if I came as the whiskey to fill 
you ! I’d- be a prime article, — I always was. 

All this was humiliation upon humiliation, 
agony piled upon agony. When he got 
home, he sat, his head on his hands, drawn 
back in a corner, as crushed and inconsol- 
able as when he first heard of his 
mother’s all potent vice. Agatha dared 
not leave him ; she tried by every gentle 
wile to comfort him, but at last he rushed 
out, ordered his horse, and dashed away. 
He rode to the next town and got brandy, 
brandy to drink, and brandy to carry home. 

It was not long before Uncle Jerry’s 
scorpion tongue was stilled. He clambered 
out of his window one night, and in his 
drunken idiocy, stumbled to a brook, where, 
probably slipping and falling on his face, he 
was found next morning drowned in the 
shallow water. 


290 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


There were other patients left at the 
poor-house. John had formally dissolved 
his partnership with Doctor Hathway, but 
as no other assistant had arrived, he volun- 
teered his attendance at the poor-house, to 
which the road was long and rough. 
“Think better of it, John.” Doctor Hath- 
way had said, kindly, “ Don’t give up the 
partnership ; but we’ll hold together, if 
you’ll make a man of yourself. Give up this 
vile drinking. A fellow of your parts might 
be the ornament of his profession. 

“ I’ve given up all those hopes,” said John. 
“ Nothing will stop my way to ruin. My love 
of drink has proved stronger than all ob- 
stacles, doctor. Love, anibition, pride, the 
entreaties of my friends, are as nothing at 
all.” 

“ It’s a bad job ! ” said the old doctor, 
gloomily, and was downcast all day. John, 
on the contrary, took brandy enough to raise 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


291 


his spirits, and was lively and jesting enough 
to make Agatha heartsick. 

If no harm came to the patients at the 
poor-house from Doctor John’s visits, between 
the brandy-flask and the prancing black 
horse, harm came to John. He was thrown 
on his head upon a pile of stones, and some 
country people coming by, after a while, 
picked him up for dead. 

When Agatha, from her window, saw John 
carried in at the front gate, limp and help- 
less, her first thought was that he had at 
length become intoxicated away from home, 
and, in this shameful condition, was brought 
to her; but Nick ran in, saying, “Mr. John’s 
been hurt bad somehow. Miss Agatha ; don’t 
be frightened ma’am, and I’ll fetch the doc- 
tor ! ” So Sara prepared a bed, and Agatha 
received her brother, who, it seemed, would 
come no more back to life. 

When once immediate danger was passed. 


292 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and, after a week of watchful care, it became 
possible that John might recover, when his 
heavy eyes opened intelligently, and he knew 
the faithful sister who watched him night and 
day, then Agatha began \o hope that this 
great danger and wonderful escape might be 
God’s appointed way to bring her prodigal 
brother to himself, and open to him the gate 
of a new and higher life. In the hours of 
his prostration, what John called his mono- 
mania, and what others called his shameful 
thirst, appeared to have departed : he craved 
no liquors, such as had well nigh destroyed 
him ; he lay passive as an infant. Ah, if his 
absorbing vice were not simply held in abey- 
ance, but were dead, for what good things 
might not Agatha hope from all the coming 
years ! 

Day by day Agatha read to her brother 
from the word of God, spoke of the past as a 
hideous dream, upon which this waking shock 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


293 


had broken, and which should be hereafter 
lost in the good activities of life. As she 
watched her well-beloved invalid in slumbers 
soft as those over which, in his childhood, she 
had kept guard, how fervently did she pray 
that these fresh expectations should be made 
blessed realities. 

Once, as she watched alone with him at 
night, she had knelt down, her forehead 
pressed on the pillow where his boyish look- 
ing curls were lying, and in her earnestness 
had prayed aloud in his behalf. John heard 
her. As those solemn, tender words of sup- 
plication entered his ear, he felt that their 
answer must come ; he looked on his past 
career with abhorrence ; he fairly wondered 
that he had desired what now he remembered 
only as a fiery and unpleasant drink, whose 
effect was pain of body and of mind, and 
shameful death. Even within him stirred 
a faint reaching after that heart holiness 


294 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


which Agatha possessed. It is a pretty 
thought that, in the stillness and helplessness 
of the night, God’s angels encamp about 
his children ; from those who watched over 
Agatha, benign influences may have fallen 
then upon John. What pity that, when 
the ruddy cherubs of morning carried the 
gray shadows to some other sphere, John’s 
good resolvings were carried from him, and 
with the vigor of returning health, he looked 
‘ on penitence as the offspring of a sickly brain, 
and, by degrees, the tastes and temptations 
of his former life seemed not so bad, nor, 
indeed, so strange and far away. Of this 
hereafter. Just now John was passive in 
his sister’s hands. Doctor Hathway watched 
him with fatherly solicitude ; Faith Temple 
sent toward him many kind thoughts un- 
known to any but herself, — thoughts blossom- 
ing into no outward token ; and through the 
whole household John’s convalescing sent 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


295 


such subdued delight as we experience in the 
spring, when first the sunbeams have wiled 
the early flowers above the sod. 




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CHAPTER VIII. 




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CHAPTER Vni. 


sitaud^i — 



H E sins of 
t li e parent 
are often re- 
duplicated in 
the child; 
when this is 
the case the 
excess of the 
child is apt 
to be greater, 
its struggles 
more violent, 
its race longer and more wretched, and its 


299 



300 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


end more terrible than the parent’s has been. 
Let this thought be a warning to all parents, 
who, going recklessly on the broad road to 
death, hear behind them the patter of chil- 
dren’s feet, — feet that shall rush by them, 
trampling on their unhonorable dust, and 
leap to ruin between defiance and despair. 

John was following in his mother’s way: 
he went beyond his mother when, after his 
illness, he was once more strong in body 
and strong in evil. While once he had been 
carried to his sister nearly dead, now he was 
often carried to her beastly drunk. 

Agatha never reproached him — how glad 
was she afterward that she had not! but 
ever received him with quiet kindness, and 
made his home as happy as she could. 

Nick’s chief business now was to follow 
Mr. John about, at safe distance, to keep 
liim out of danger, and to bring him home. 
All at once there was a sudden pause in 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


301 


this; John quit drinking for a fortnight; 
was surly and silent during that time. On 
one dreary March morning, Agatha sat down 
to her breakfast alone. She sent to see if 
John were coming to the table; but John 
was not to be found. Noon, night, and still 
he did not come ; and now Agatha found 
that John’s clothes, his rifle and rods, most 
of his possessions had been removed from 
the house ; and soon to this knowledge was 
added what people were whispering about 
the town, that John had gone ofi* entirely; 
that he had withdrawn his stock from the 
bank, and indeed decamped with all his avail- 
able property. 

In vain they searched for him here and 
there ; no trace was to be obtained, and 
what good if there had been? John could 
do as he pleased, and if he pleased to leave 
his friends, they must accept it quietly. 
Agatha remembered how his mother had 


302 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


thus disappeared, and how, at last, all 
broken and dying, she had come back to 
the shelter of her home. So John might 
return, and, if he did, he would not find 
Agatha cold or absent, but the inviting lights 
should beam from home-windows, should 
cheer him on his way, and, emulating the 
good father in sacred story, Agatha was 
ready to see him when he was yet a great 
way off, and have compassion, and run and 
fall on his neck, and kiss him, — to clothe 
him, and put on his finger the ring of rec- 
onciliation. So must we leave Agatha, 
vestal at the shine of home, for, as ever in 
the world’s history, it is not the heroic en- 
durers of griefs untold who are held up to 
the applause and admiration of the sons’ of 
men. 

John had resolved to release himself from 
all restraint, to go where the bonds of rela- 
tionship or friendship might not hold him. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


303 


Whether he should drink, or should not 
drink, John had not yet decided. Indeed, 
he told himself that he had no decision to 
make; he was under the control of some 
destiny ; and what that destiny was, he 
did not know. He would go to the city 
of New York, cut loose from friends and 
foes, cover his own tracks so that nobody 
should find him; and maybe, in the swim 
for life, the demijohn would drift away from 
him and he could save himself, or perhaps 
Demijohn would cleave to him, and sink 
him. Leaning back in the “Owl Train” 
that swept him toward his destination, his 
hat crushed over his eyes, and apparently 
asleep, he kept up a busy thinking ; he 
thought, in the first place, that to run away 
in this manner was the only reasonable 
thing he could do. He would no longer 
be afraid of meeting sweet Faith Temple 
on the streets, nor would he see Agatha 


304 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


growing worn and old over his extravagan- 
cies. Next he thought that he had money 
enough ; if he reformed, he could soon get 
a good practice and build up his fortune; 
if he did not reform, he knew the Demi- 
john would be the death of him before he 
could make away with what money he had. 
Pie indulged in a melancholy dream of 
dying prematurely, alone, unknown, and 
being carelessly buried in the potter’s field, 
with nothing to mark his grave, and nobody 
to weep over it. He had also a pleasant 
fancy of reforming, getting friends, fame, 
wide practice, money, in an incredibly short 
time, and going back to his native town, 
all flushed with honor and success, and 
marrying Faith Temple, and becoming to 
Agatha all that she had hoped, or his father 
had charged him. And so at last the rush- 
ing train, that bore John and his thrilling, 
trembling, hopes and fears, and hundreds 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


305 


more, puffed and snorted into its darkened 
depot; lamps blinked drowsily high over 
head ; unopportune hackmen, newsboys, 
apple-venders, and baggage-men, hung about 
the passengers ; men with lanterns jumped in 
and out frantically. John snatched his 
valise, buttoned his wallet and checks in his 
pocket, and walked off to a hotel. He did 
not stop at the bar longer than to get a 
room, and after his day of travel he was 
soon sound asleep. 

After breakfast next morning, John went 
out to hunt for a boarding place. He 
did not choose the fashionable streets, as 
he wanted to be left quite to himself. He 
did not intend to go to a hotel, for fear 
his friends might search for him. He 
strolled through Second Avenue, along 
Great Jones, through a portion of the 
Bowery, up Houston to Broadway, on Broad- 
way to Spring Street, and then up along 


306 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Spring to Mercer, and, going up Mercer he 
saw a three-story, half-genteel brick house, 
with “ rooms and boarding ” printed on a 
ticket hanging near the bell-handle. John 
rang the bell ; a fresh-faced, blue-eyed, dowdy 
personage opened the door. 

“ Have you a room to let ? ” asked John. 

“ It’s on the ticket,” quoth the woman, 
looking sharply at him. 

“ I want a room^” said John. 

Third story it is,” said the dame. 

‘‘ Let me see it.” 

So the woman took John up two flights of 
indifferently kept stairs, to a front room, with 
a matting on the floor, white curtains at the 
windows, a round table with a red cover, a 
nice looking bed, and a rack with plenty of 
towels ; there was enough of respectable 
furniture, a well-cleaned grate, where a cheer- 
ful fire might brighten damp days, and 
altogether John thought it would suit him. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


307 


“ Oh, we’re Hinglish,” said the woman, 
“ and I ’ope we knows ’ow to keep a ’ouse. 
You’ll not find a better room in town for 
the price. Room and board, sir.” 

“ Only room ; I shall take my meals else- 
where.” 

“ Better take ’em ’ere, sir ; good comforta- 
ble family meals, sir, and nothing but 
respectable young gents as is boardin’ in the 
’ouse. I’ve a bank, a dry-goods line, a pro- 
fessor, a railroad, and a hartist,” and, as the 
hostess thus indicated the calling of her 
various boards, she held up finger after 
finger, that they might better be numbered. 

u Very excellent society, I’ve no doubt,” 
said John ; ‘‘ but I shall not take my meals 
where I have my room.” 

‘ Oh, well, I don’t say as I won’t rent a 
room on them conditions. I ’ave one gent on 
them terms now : the front hattic ; heats hat 
a restaurant ; the front hattic is a daily paper. 
Baggage sir ? ” 


308 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Yes : at tlie depot.” 

‘‘ Pay in liadvance, is my terms with 
strangers.” 

“ Very good. I will pay in advance for 
each month.” 

“ You can ’ave the room, sir, if hit suits. 
’Ope as you’ll find hit pleasant, sir. My 
name’s Mrs. Crow, from Hingland, sir. 
Belfast people, forwarding business is my 
’usband. Lawyer, sir ? ” 

“ Physician,” said John. 

“Yes, hexactly : knew you was a profes- 
sional. The professor hand the hartist will 
’ave the same floor, sir. Send your baggage 
soon, sir? ” 

“Immediately,” said John, handing Mrs. 
Crow his card, which she regarded for some 
five minutes with increasing satisfaction. 
The matter of a room being thus settled, the 
next thing was to get his baggage there, and 
settle his property in his room to his mind. 
Mrs. Crow made several errands into the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


809 


room while this was being done. She os- 
tensibly came to bring water, toilet-soap, 
pohsh the looking-glass, bring a fresh blanket, 
and ask if John wanted a fire ; but the keen 
and constant attention she gave his trunks, 
made it evident that she came to see the 
goods of her new lodger, and thus satisfy 
herself as to his respectability. She glowed 
with delight as a handsome dressing-box 
was placed on the bureau, and volumes in 
gilt and morocco graced the little round 
table ; she rustled and plumed, like a pigeon 
in the sun, over a rosewood writing-desk, a 
russia leather portfolio, a silver-mounted pen- 
rack and tooth-pick holder ; and, when a silk- 
lined cashmere wrapper went across the back 
of a rocking-chair, and two charming little 
paintings took their places on her bare walls, 
she dashed to the kitchen and told the house- 
maid that now she ’ad got a gent has wm 
a gent ; ” then back to John’s room to say that 


310 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


when lie wanted warm water to shave, he 
was only to pull the bell-rope, and, while y' 
saying this, she saw a smoking-cap and a 
pair of slippers seek the good society of the 
cashmere wrapper, and the “ ’andsomest suit 
of clothes has hever she laid heyes hon,” go 
into the wardrobe. 

Our John had a girlish love of luxuries 
and pretty trifles. He was busy several hours 
in setting out the ornaments that he had 
been accustomed to in his room at home. 
At last, his rifle and fishing rods were laid 
over brass hooks ; his game-bags, baskets and 
other accoutrements, were swung near them. 
The third-story front room was quite altered 
in its air, and, when Mrs. Crow trotted up 
for the twentieth time to turn over a rug, 
and carry a footstool from the left to the 
right of the fire-place, she sniffed the atmos- 
phere of the transformed apartment, as if 
she stood on the shore of the spiciest island 
in all the spicy East. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


311 


His room ordered to his mind, John locked 
die door and walked out toward the Astor 
L'brary. He felt a glorious sense of free- 
dom, like a runaway school-boy, while his 
podiets are flush of money, and before he 
has got frightened, homesick and ashamed. 
The new scenes, the strange faces, the queer 
people, so occupied John’s attention that he 
had no inclination, as yet, for mischief; and 
perhaps, despite all the trouble that it had 
brouglt to Agatha, waiting at home, this 
escapade of John’s was the best thing that 
could have occurred. Up shabby, genteel 
Mercer, along West Fourth street, and into 
quiet, refined Lafayette Place, and now John 
was under the brown-stone front of the Astor 
Library, where, niche after niche, with light 
stairways climbing high, where desks and 
:ables and shelves, from floor to lofty ceiling, 
hold the gathered wit and learning of the 
earth, the wisdom of the old-world and the 


312 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


new. Hat in hand, with light tread and 
head slightly, bent, John entered. As of/ 
old, some seeker for instruction entered th/ 
threshold of the temple where Apollo’s oracly 
responded from the remote adytum. / 
Well-a-day, in this world, the sublime alnd 
the absurd, the good and ill, the spiritual 
and the physical, crowd hard upon Mch 
other. Who will doubt that, after tl?e in- 
tense interest of some new book, after long 
time spent in pondering the pleasant mges, 
John began to remember that the hotel break- 
fast had been early partaken ; that unch- 
time had long passed, and that it would be 
well to get dinner ? j 

Looking for dinner, he did not{ go to 
places where he might meet stray adquaintr 
ance from the town, the home he was now 
to banish from his mind, waiting to see 
how events v^ould turn ; but he found a 
comfortable restaurant, kept on the Conti- 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


813 


nental plan, — a place beloved of Bohemians, 
who make their nests in the towers of the 
University building ; of students at the Med- 
ical College ; of artists and waifs, who man- 
age to raise enough to keep soul and body 
together, and broadcloth on their backs, in 
the seething mass of New York life. John 
liked the fare and the attendance. He did 
not call for any wine, and, having eaten his 
dinner, he resolved to frequent that restau- 
rant, at least until their cookery palled on 
his taste and he had seen all the varieties 
of people who made a habit of going there. 

A month slipped away. John went often 
to the Astor Library, spent mornings at Gou- 
pil’s and The Dusseldorf, strayed now and 
then into Cooper Institute, visited the His- 
torical Societies’ rooms and the Museum of 
Egyptian Antiquities, was nightly at opera, 
tlieatre, or lecture, and, though he might have 
been much better employed than in being 


314 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


at two of these places, still he had kept out 
of saloons, and had neither indulged in cards, 
billiards, nor strong drink. 

He made no acquaintances ; the “ bank, 
the dry-goods line, the professor, the railroad, 
and the hartist,” at Mrs. Crow’s, had never 
found him in his room if they had taken 
the trouble to call ; the landlady had become 
quite maternal in her feelings toward him. 
His room was in good order, he was not 
aware that the laundress had stolen any of 
his clothes, and life was going easily with 
John, though his was only a busy idleness, 
and he was as aimless as a leaf floating on 
a stream. 

He went into his favorite restaurant one 
day for dinner, passed a man sitting at one 
little marble table, and took his place at 
another, with his back nearly to the stranger. 
A waiter passed him with a tray having a 
salad, a slice of beef, and a square bit of 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


315 


bread, and set it down at this other man’s 
elbow, and then came for John’s order. 
While roast lamb, asparagus,, and beef patties 
are coming up for John, let us lend a moment 
to consider how, to some men, some other 
man is an evil genius ; how this evil genius 
follows his unconscious victim, starts up un- 
expectedly before him, lies in wait at the by- 
corners of his life, lures him, deceives him, 
destroys him ; the one man hardly conscious 
what is wrong, and the other scarcely 
realizing that he is the thing he is. Here, 
just at what might have been — who knows ? 
— a turning-point in John’s life, he had gone 
to eat his dinner, and lo ! his evil genius sat 
eating beef and salad just behind him. John 
discussed lamb and patties ; a rattle just be- 
hind indicated the knife-and-fork achieve- 
ments of his companion. 

John, given to luxuries, as we said, had 
just ordered a plate of early strawberries for 


316 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


lunch, and was resigned to the removal of 
asparagus, when there was a step behind 
him, a jovial slap on his shoulder. 

“ John, old boy, how are you ? Ton my 
my word, I’m glad to see you ! ” 

John looked up: there was — Joe. 

Quickly came to John a memory of that 
hospital affair ; of keys treacherously obtained, 
and shamefully used. Would he shake hands 
with a thief, a thief who had brought him 
to shame ? He thrust his liands into his 
pockets, leaned back, and looked defiance. 

Joe flung himself into a chair, gazed jovial- 
ly at John. 

‘‘Why, John, bless me, John, what’s up? 
Can’t you give your fist to an old friend ? ” 

“ A friend ! ” sneered John. “ Have you 
such a sieve of a memory as not to remember 
the vile trick you played on me at the 
hospital ? ” 

“ Upon my life, John, I don’t know what 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


317 


you mean ; and, if it wasn’t for old-time 
friendship I wouldn’t take your talk 1 ” 

“ Didn’t you get my keys there, and take 
drugs out of the store-room, about two hun- 
dred dollars’ worth?” 

“ Well, I didn’t,” said Joe, flatly. 

“You did, and that porter Randall knew 
it ; and there I had to pay him two hundred 
and ten, to shut his mouth, and after all 
I laid open the matter to the head surgeon, 
and paid him two hundred down, to make 
up.” 

“ Bless me, how soft you are, John ! ” said 
Joe, chuckling inwardly. “ Never had a thing 
to do with it, give you my word of honor. 
That Randall must have taken the drugs, 
if there were any taken, and gulled you 
completely : why didn’t you send him up for 
it? Say I took drugs ? Never, sir, only what 
you humbugging doctors have stuffed down 
my throat. John, I’d knock you over for 


318 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


that, only I know you always were a hot- 
headed, hasty-tempered, good-hearted dog. 
I forgive you ; there’s my hand on it.” 

John was not proof against Joe’s effrontery. 
It is undeniable that there was a weak spot 
in our hero. He slowly drew his hand from 
his pocket : “ Well, if that’s so, Joe, ” 

‘‘ It is so,” said Joe, cordially grasping 
John’s half-offered hand. Just then, the 
strawberries came. Joe declined to have a 
dish ordered for him ; but sat, talking, as 
John ate. 

“ What are you doing here, John, my boy ? 
got a flourishing business, and making trade 
lively at the undertaker’s and marble yards ? ” 
* “I’m not practising,” said John; “just 
looking about, and trying to enjoy myself.” 

“ Yes, you lucky dog, you’ve got money. 
Well, I’ve turned over a new leaf, John, 
working like everything ; I’m connected with 
a daily paper. Pshaw, it is no use being 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


319 


shy with you. I’m not very flourishing ; but I 
keep the wolf at bay, while I secure “ items ” 
for the Times. I lounge about everywhere, 
hearing things, and dress all up to electrify 
the public, as said public eats its breakfast 
and reads its paper. Keeps me going, night 
and day ; but I never was a lucky dog. I 
eat here, generally, and I have an attic room 
round in Mercer street, at the ‘ ’ouse of a 
Hinglish ’oman,’ named Mrs. Crow.” 

John dropped his spoon, in amazement: 
was Joe Mrs. Crow’s hattic as got his 
meals hout,” as she described her lodger at 
one time ; the “ Daily Press,” as she men- 
tioned him at other times. 

“ That’s just where I live,” said John. 

“ Possible ! Third-story front ? Why, I’vo 
heard the praises of a ‘ gent as is a gent, 
with no hend of fandangos and money in 
his pocket,’ as Mrs. Crow graphically de- 
scribes you. Well, good-by, John ; this is 


320 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


like old times. I’ll see you again, — often, 
I hope. I must trot off now and see if I 
can see a ^ knock-down,’ or hear of a ‘ suicide,’ 
or ‘ found drowned,’ or ‘ runaway match,’ or 
‘ saloon row,’ — all’s fish to my net.” 

Off went Joe, reckless Bohemian of the 
lowest order. As Joe went up street, John 
meditated that “ Joe wasn’t so bad a fellow, 
after all ; ” and Joe soliloquized that “ John 
had money, and was soft ; that he should 
indubitably share his money, and that over- 
hauling him was the best stroke of work 
he’d done this long while ; ” though what 
work it had been, unless it was work to 
tell any amount of lies, we are quite unable 
to determine. 

After this, Joe managed to find John con- 
stantly ; but did not take any extreme meas- 
ures to bring John into evil doings at once. 
He saw John in a new character, and he 
wished to study carefully that character be- 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


321 


fore he exposed himself. They often went 
to places of amusement, or to get little sup- 
pers together ; and, somehow, it was always 
John who paid the bill. In return, Joe took 
John with him to queer places, item-hunt- 
ing ; and there was, to John, a romance 
and fascination in going into such new com- 
pany, and knowing what was to be in the 
paper before other people knew it, and in 
seeing how Joe dressed up incidents and 
accidents until they were twice as wonder- 
ful to read of as to see. Joe also favored 
John with choice morsels of his private his- 
tory, -7- things tending in no wise to John’s 
edification. For instance, passing a hotel, 
one day, Joe said : There’s a little exploit 
of mine connected with this house, — I’ll 
tell you, John. I went there, one night, 
without a cent. I had an old travelling bag, 
and it was pretty well stuffed with my extra 
clothes. I put down my name, called for a 


322 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


room, and went up to it. Well, I had lodging 
and breakfast. After breakfast, I went up 
to my room, to arrange for leaving, without 
paying my bill. I put on a double suit of 
clothes, all through, — socks, shirts, coats, 
and everything. I stuffed handkerchief, ties, 
gloves, and all those little things, in my 
pockets, buttoned myself up, and oh ! how 
hot and tight and uncomfortable I felt ! 
Then I filled the bag with sheets, towels, 
pillow-cases, and so forth, from the room ; 
walked down to the clerk, and asked him 
to keep my bag until I went down town. 
He never seemed to notice that I was twice 
the size I was when I came ; but he took the 
bag, and off I went, — never went back, of 
course.” 

John did not think this a nice perfor- 
mance ; he saw it was mean and dishonest, 
beneath any one who pretended to be a 
gentleman. Yet he laughed, because he 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


323 


thought Joe would call him “spooney” if 
he did not. What a pity John was such 
a coward. 

Another of Joe’s tales was this : — “I 
was standing at a depot, expecting to get 
on the train, and after I’d made a few miles 
get put off, for I hadn’t a cent. Up comes an 
Irishman : — ‘ Please, sur, will you hold 
me ticket whoile I buy me loonch? I’m 
fearing I’d mislay it.’ Hold his ticket, you 
know, as if he’d said, ‘ hold my horse ! ’ 
Up comes the train, on jump I with the 
emerald’s ticket, and ride as far as it’ll 
take me.” 

“Rob a poor man of his ticket 1” cried 
John. “ I’d be ashamed to own it.” 

“ Oh,” said Joe, “ it was good for one day 
only,’ and that was the last train, and the 
man off somewhere getting drunk, likely. I 
used it to save it; eh, John?” 

“ It was a shabby trick.” said John, 
smartly. 


324 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


‘‘ Yes, yes, you were always soft that way, 
John ; you gave back the old man’s apple 
money, I remember, at College.” 

How well are such as Joe described in 
Jeremiah: ‘‘They are sottish children, 
and have none understanding : they are 
wise to do evil : but to do good they have no 
knowledge.” 

As John made no reply to Joe’s rem- 
iniscence, Joe said, presently, “ I tell you 
John, you lucky dogs who are born with 
silver spoons in your mouths, don’t know 
how my set get on.” 

“You were able to go to College” said 
John. 

“ Yes, my uncle sent me there ; and,' 
when I got rusticated or expelled, he said 
I wasn’t making a good use of my oppor- 
tunities. As I didn’t toe the mark close 
enough to suit him, he cut me loose, and 
I’ve drifted about ever since. One place 
where I went to board I took a trunk, a 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 325 

second-hand, cheap thing, and filled with 
paper, stones, and so on ; and when I didn’t 
pay my board, the landlady — Irish wo- 
man — said she’d seize my trunk. I begged 
off as long as I could, - and when I found 
she was truly about to seize, I decamped, 
and a jolly trunk full she got.” 

“ I hope you don’t mean to serve Mrs. 
Crow so,” said John. ‘‘ She is a kind, 
honest woman.” 

“ I don’t mean anything about it ; I shall 
pay her if I can. I owe her twelve dollars 
now, and she duns me continually, but I 
haven’t a red to pay her ; and I know she 
needs the money. She’ll take my things 
some fine morning, but they won’t be worth 
the bill to her, and I’ll be used up without 
them.” 

“ Can’t you raise money anyway ? ” 
asked John. 

“ Not unless I borrow, and I don’t know 


326 JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 

one chap with money but you. Maybe 
you’d lend me some ? I’ll pay you back 
sometime — honor bright.” 

John lent Joe twelve dollars. Joe gave 
Mrs. Crow seven dollars “ to stop her mouth,” 
he said ; the remaining five he spent at a 
gambling saloon, and won, unfortunately, 
thirty dollars. He then paid John twelve 
dollars, telling him he got it by writing for 
a weekly paper, and the next night went back 
to gamble again. He had paid John, so that 
John would be ready to lend him a larger 
sum at some future time. At his second 
visit to the saloon, he lost every cent he had, 
got drunk and cross, and was finally pushed 
into the street, minus hat, kerchief, and 
pocket-book. 

With diabolical coolness and cruelty, Joe 
laid his plans about John. His main object 
was to get a share of John’s money, and he 
did not wish him to get to drinking to such 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


327 


an extent as to use all his funds on himself ; 
neither must John get industrious enough, 
and gain self-respect enough, to be above 
Joe’s society. 

Joe managed that John should pay both 
their bills at the restaurant, and one while, 
he w^ould borrow money to pay a pressing 
bill at the tailor’s, another time he would get 
money to pay the boot-maker, and sometimes 
he would go through the farce of giving J ohn 
his note for the borrowed sums. John, ever 
reckless, and never accustomed to pecuniary 
necessity, lent carelessly, hardly knowing 
what he gave to Joe; one time ten dollars, 
another time twenty, again five, ‘‘just for a 
few hours ; ” and on John’s money Joe 
gambled and got drunk and feasted his 
riotous companions, telling them enlivening 
tales of how “ soft ” John was, and how 
“ spooney.” So much got John by his com- 
panionship with the wicked. There were 


328 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


others of John’s college acquaintance in 
New York, men whose society might have 
done him good ; but Joe, his evil genius, 
was as yet the only one he found. 

And now, lest John should be reformed 
and go home, or get into practice, and find a 
circle of valuable acquaintances, Joe brought 
John once more into friendship with the 
demijohn. Yes : a demijohn well filled stood 
in John’s closet, and Joe assured him it was 
the height of felicity to have lemons, eggs, 
sugar, apples, spices, and figs in neat tin 
boxes in his closet, and from thorn concoct, 
of nights, a variety of stimulating drinks, 
heating them over the gas-burner. 

Mrs. Crow kindly, ignorant, fussy woman, 
looked, ill-pleased, on the intimacy between 
her favorite boarder and the “ h attic ” she 
had always regarded with suspicion and 
dislike. 

‘‘ Hi ’ave no doubt, Mr. Stafford,” she said 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


329 


one morning, ‘‘ that my railroad or my dry- 
goods line or my hartist would be much 
more hagreeable society for a young gent like 
you, than my hattic.” 

“My acquaintance with Joe dates back to 
when we went to college together,” said 
John, who was lounging in Mrs. Crow’s 
parlor, while that worthy woman dusted her 
mantel and its multitude of china trinkets. 

“ Hi do suppose,” said Mrs. Crow, “ that 
in college gents has his gents do get acquaint- 
ance of gents has his no gents hat all. My 
professor ’ere his has fine has need be, when 
you get to know him ; but very still and stiff 
the professor is with strangers. I ’ad a ’ole- 
sale groceries ’ere has was a fine gent ; hand 
I did ’ave a doctor, a near your hage, I should 
judge ; but the ' doctor’s gone hover to Canal 
Street, ’is practice being hin that neigh- 
bor’ood.” 

“I should like to meet him,” said John, 
politely. 


330 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


“ A ’oman has keeps boarding hand lodg- 
ing,” contiued Mrs. Crow, “ gets to hunder- 
stand pretty well the ways hof young gents. 
When I see a young gent has comes hin of 
nights, hs ’at being gone, hand his coat hall 
muddied, hand when that young gent does, to 
my certain knowledge, borrow hand never 
pay, hand when that young gent ’as no fear 
of God nor of man before ’is heyes, hand 
when he r oysters round hon sabbath days, 
as might sit quiet in the ’ouse, or walk quiet 
hin the street, or go quiet to church, hi sets 
hit down as ’ow that young gent won’t do 
you no good nor me no good nor nobody 
else no good ; ” and, in her earnestness, Mrs. 
Crow let fall a china dog, and broke off its 
tail. Regarding this wreck of dogdom with 
sincere regret, Mrs. Crow continued her 
oration. “Says I to Crow, — forwarding 
business his Crow, — that hattic is going to 
get warning from me. I’ll ’ave no hattic hin 
my ’ouse has ’as no regard for himself, nor 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


331 


yet for me, nor yet for my young gents. 
Being as my hattic can’t conduct has liattic 
should, hattic gets notice from me, he do.” 
And Mrs. Crow, seeing that the broken tail 
could not be persuaded to resume its place 
on the dog, threw that caudal ornament in 
the grate, and backed his dogship up properly 
against the wall, where his c?etailed condition 
might not be noted by the casual eye. 

At the end of that week, Joe got notice 
that his room must be surrendered, and we 
will do Mrs. Crow the justice to remark, 
that she dismissed her lodger as much with 
a motherly eye to John’s interest as to the 
interest of her own pocket. 

With the demijohn installed in his closet, 
the demon came back to John’s heart. No 
more he sought, in the solemn shades of the 
library, companionship with the thoughts of 
great men ; no more the fair creations of the 
painter purified his thoughts ; no longer study 


332 


JOHN ANi/ THE DEMIJOHN. 


won back something of the old-time earnest- 
ness and ability ; but, day after day, he drank 
deeper and deeper until now Mrs. Crow saw 
her gent has was a gent ” reel in at night 
intoxicated, and was painfully aware that he 
went to bed at times in his boots, and in 
the mornings she would kindly clean clothes 
that were “ muddied ” as Joe’s had been. 

All this time, Joe, the wicked, was daily 
with John, borrowing his money and pretend- 
ing friendship for him, and bringing himself 
into more complete acquaintance with John’s 
affairs, and John into more miserable degra- 
dation. 

John ceased to care for his appearance; 
the demijohn seemed to be his meat and 
drink, and Mr. Crow was for having Mm re- 
quested to find other quarters ; but Mrs. Crow 
good woman, said he “ was a young gent 
as ’ad been led away, a young gent as was 
halways kind and quiet heven when drunk. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


333 


a young gent as should ’ave a mother or 
sister to look hafter ’im, and ’aving none, 
to all appearance, Mrs. Crow was willing 
to play the part of both. 

By October, John had spent some three 
hundred dollars on himself, lent as much 
more to Joe, and then had his first attack 
of delirium tremens. Mrs. Crow pitied him, 
nursed him, and, when Joe came to see him, 
refused to let him in, and unbraided him 
with being the ruin of as nice a young 
gent has hever she laid heyes on.” 

John’s constitution was not very strong, 
and, after the grip of the drunkard’s delirium 
had relaxed, he fell into a fever. Mrs. Crow 
said he must have a doctor and a nurse, 
and Crow, finding the invalid’s pocket 
book lined with a hundred-dollar bill, said 
so too. 

Mrs. Crow sent for the young doctor who 
had gone from her house to Canal street ; 


3B4 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


who coming to the patient’s bedside, lo ! two 
old mates were together again, for it was 
Lester who stood holding John’s hand, his 
finger on the throbbing pulse, and his eyes 
fixed anxiously on the flushed face of his 
old “chum.” Was this inebriate the jocund 
boy with whom he had laughed over college 
frolics, who had robbed him of his oysters, 
treated him to merry suppers, and at last 
met him often in the medical class-room, as 
they pursued their later studies ? 

John’s cheeks took a deeper glow than 
of the fever, his eyelids quivered and fell, 
his lip trembled — from very shame he turned 
his face to the wall — was this the end of 
all the olden boasts and ambitions ? 

Demijohn, demijohn, come out of the’^oset, 
and be adjudged to capital punishment and 
perpetual obloquy for a murder of a body 
and a murder of a soul ! 

“ Hi ’ope he ain’t dangerous, sir,” said Mrs. 
Crow. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


335 


“No, no,” said Lester. “I’m glad you 
called me ; he’s an old friend, a dear friend. 
Leave us alone, if you please, Mrs. Crow.” 

“ He’s surely a young gent hif ’e’s a friend 
to the doctor,” reported Mrs. Crow to her 
husband ; “ ‘ forwarding business was the 
husband,’ you know.” 

Lester was John’s deeply interested physi- 
cian. He brought him a capable nurse, and, 
until the patient was convalescing, neither 
doctor nor nurse remitted their attentions, 
and perfect mental and physical quiet for 
John was maintained. When John was able 
to sit up, in the wrapper and slippers ad- 
mired by Mrs. Crow, Lester said to him, — 

“John, I want to bring a clergyman to 
see you.” 

“ I don’t want to see a clergyman,” said 
John, flushing. 

“ You’ll want to see this one : it is Sam, 
your old room-mate. He has a mission 


336 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


church, way down in Cortland street. He 
is a poor man’s preacher, I am a poor man’s 
doctor ; but I trust we are both doing good 
in our lives, and I want you to see him.” 

Of course, Sam came. During hours which 
these two friends spent with John, he told 
them all his story : his struggles and down- 
falls at home, his secret departure from his 
native place, his easy, harmless life, his 
meeting with Joe, and, thereafter, his steady 
course down, down, down into those depths 
where manhood and friends and fortune 
and honor die. 

“ There’s a demijohn of whiskey in that 
closet, now,” said John, pointing out the 
place, sadly enough. 

“ And have you been drinking it, re- 
cently ? ” asked Lester. 

“ No : I don’t care for it ; when I am sick 
and weak, I lose all taste for it.” 

‘‘ Then here’s the moment to begin a * 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


337 


complete reform. You may give me that 
demijohn of whiskey, and I’ll use it for 
making liniment for my* rheumatism pa- 
tients.” 

“ Take it and welcome,” said John ; “ but 
when I go out into the streets, and meet 
somebody .who says take a drink, or see a 
bar all set out invitingly, there I am gone 
again. I’m doomed, boys, no mistake. I 
inherited a taste for liquor, and it is as strong 
as my heart beats.” 

“ You must go where no whiskey is to be 
had ; go where you can’t get liquor, and can 
get pleasant occupation, and stay one year, 
two years, five years, until your taste for 
strong drink has died a natural death.” 

‘‘ And where could I go ? ” questioned John: 
“ no place in this country ; where there are 
ten men gathered together, there’s a whiskey 
shop, and somebody to ask you to drink.” 

“ Go where there are not ten men,” said 


338 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Sam. “You used to be quite a sportsman, 
fond of wood-craft ; go to John Brown’s tract, 
and turn hunter or trapper, and live there 
until your body is tough and strong, and 
your thirst for the demijohn is gone.” 

“It is winter now,” said John. “I am 
not used to exposure. I could not get ^along 
in those snowy woods and cold storms like 
a man less used to the soft things of this 
life. Next spring I might go there ; but next 
spring would be too late, too late.” 

“ I tell you what,” cried Lester : “ go south- 
ward. There you would enjoy the climate: 
it would brace you up.” 

“ Worse and worse ! — go to the temptations 
of southern cities ! ” cried John. 

No, go to one of those fair, uninhabited 
Islands. There is Tybee, just opposite 
Cockspur, and Fort Pulaski. It is woody, 
lovely, warm ; a beach full of shells, a 
forest full of flowers, bugs, and birds for 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


339 


specimens. Take a tent, cooking apparatus, 
camp-bed and chair, mess chest, books, 
writing materials, hunting and fishing equip- 
ments, get acquainted with nobody, live a 
hermit, be always busy, and perhaps you 
can get cured.” 

“ What security have I of getting there 
safely. I may fall into temptation while 
I am buying my outfit, or going to my 
retreat. 0,” he groaned aloud, for me 
there is no hope.” 

“ Come now ! ” cried Sam, “ I’ve had 
no vacation this summer ; there is such a 
stampede of ministers during the hot 
weather, that I felt it my duty to stay and 
mind my sheep. I can get somebody to 
take my place for a while, and I’ll rest 
by going along with you, and seeing you 
settled. I’d like it of all things. I think 
we had better go to Savannah, and buy 
your outfit and stores there, and get a little 


340 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


sloop or yacht to take you over to your 
island.” 

This was a Quixotic expedition, but John 
would be ruined by the city, refused to write 
or return home, and was all in favor of 
a season of camp life. 

Mrs. Crow mourned greatly over his pros- 
pective departure ; he had been taking his 
meals in the house lately, and was a very 
profitable young gent.” John left a large 
portion of his personal property in her keep- 
ing, and when, one October morning, with 
Sam, he was ready to depart, Mrs. Crow 
stood weeping at her door, calling down 
blessings on his head, and exclaiming of 
her longing for “ the ’appy day as she might 
see that dear young gent returning to ’er 
’ouse all safe and sound.” 

Sam had deemed it a duty to look up Joe, 
and strive to turn him from the error of his 
ways. John had given Joe’s present address, 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


341 


and Sam, on calling at the house, was met 
by a shrewd, sharp-voiced woman, who, 
on being asked for her lodger, volubly ex- 
claimed, He was gone, thank fortune ; such 
a rascal might she never see more. He 
had never paid her but five dollars of 
money, for one month’s advance ; and he’d 
got in a row at a gambling room, and had 
to run from the town, the police bein’ after 
him ; and what does he leave, pray, but 
one valise of shavings, one bag ditto, one 
box coal cinder, and ditto. If the gentle- 
man is anything to him, she hopes he’ll pay, 
ten dollars for room rent, forty-five cents for 
one broken lamp, forty cents for two lights 
of glass, also broke, indeed.” 

But Sam was nothing to Joe in the way 
of paying his debts, so he made his escape 
from the voluble woman, feeling as if he 
had been standing exposed to a hail storm. 

And now, on an ocean, calm in a sunny 


342 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


week of October, into climes growing fairer 
and warmer, through four days of southward 
travel, greeting the sun, rising red and hold 
over an expanse of orange and crimson 
waves ; noting the moon and stars at night, 
reduplicating their beauty in the sea ; looking 
idly on the wake of foam the stanch ship 
left behind as she sped along her way, 
thinking, no doubt, how that Ocean, stretch- 
ing North, beat on a beach where his feet 
had often trod, and that the boom of those 
very waves along the coast was heard by 
Agatha, lonely in her childhood’s home, by 
Faith, whom, in his folly, he had lost for- 
ever, — went John, seeking a refuge for 
himself,’ from the Demijohn. Sam told him 
his only sure refuge was in the Grace of 
God ; but John preferred to seek his help 
from finite things. 


I 



CHAPTER IX. 


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CHAPTER IX. 

ioltu Scfwtt* 



T Savannah 
John secured 
a tent, a 
mess-chest, 
and sm all 
camp cooking 
apparatus . 
He bought a 
bold, faithful, 
lion-like dog, 
and hired a 
tidy, honest, 
garrulous old negro to go with him as servant. 


345 


346 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


John began to be quite lively when fairly 
equipped in shooting suit, with all manner of 
hunting and fishing supplies. He was finally 
landed on a secluded part of Tybee, at the 
edge of a wood, where the high tides came 
almost to his tent, which was pitched in the 
shadow of a great oak. Sam remained with 
him a few days, wandered with him over the 
lovely island where he was playing Crusoe, 
visited the Martello Tower, and, at last, with 
many good wishes, left him to his fate. Be- 
fore going, Sam privately gave to the negro 
a directed envelope, telling him to keep it 
safely, and, if Mr. Stafford got into any 
trouble, or disappeared, to have a letter 
written and forwarded in it. The negro 
nodded, tapped his head significantly, and set 
himself to look after his new employer with 
especial care. John was in high spirits : 
he had always loved the woods, and to roam 
about at will ; and, while he was too much of 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


347 


a Sybarite to endure the roughness and 
privations of a wild life, he enjoyed living as 
he did now, with his books, drawing material, 
servant to wait on him, tent to shelter him, 
food to his taste, and powerful, sagacious 
dog to follow his going out and coming in. 

The negro owned a dug-out, an oyster- 
rake, and a big knife. When the tide was 
low, John would get in the dug-out with his 
servant, and be rowed to some of the oyster- 
shoals, which showed long, chalky ridges 
above the low-water mark ; there they would 
collect as many oysters as they needed, and 
the negro could cook them in different ways. 

There is one thing,’’ said John : “ we can 
have nothing baked, as we have no oven.” 

“ Oh, got oven enough,” said his servant. 
“ I’ll make sich an oven as you never see 
afore.” 

Sure enough, he dug a hole in the sand, 
lined it with flat stones, and, having heated it, 


348 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


by burning wood in it, he soon had an oven 
where he could bake whatever John desired. 
Sometimes they would go out crab-fishing; 
then John would shoot curlews for a new 
supply for his larder. Fish of all kinds was 
abundant ; and, as it was but small labor to 
fish and shoot for two, John had ample time 
to stuff birds, collect and press flowers, gather 
and polish shells, and mount beetles and 
butterflies in the handsome cases he had 
brought prepared. How pleasantly the days 
sped on, darkened, sometimes, by the thought 
of Agatha, anxious and lonely ; and a sting 
of self-reproach that he, whom she loved so 
well, had been no better brother, made no 
more kind return ! But these shadows he 
banished in the thought that he might one 
day go home firm in the right, and make 
compensation for all the sorrows of the past. 
Knowing his own weakness, Jonn did not 
trust himself to visit the Fort at Corkspur 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


349 


Island, which lay near him, and, indeed, 
had established himself on an opposite side 
of Tybee, that he might see as little of the 
officers there as possible, fearing that they 
would tempt him as Joe had done. The 
officers thought him a queer fellow, given 
entirely to scientific pursuits, and troubled 
him very little. John had a hammock 
swung to the limb of a large tree, and in this 
hammock he would lie and read for hours, 
the warm sunlight, the chirp of birds, the 
flowers on the grass, and the gorgeous blos- 
soms of the trumpet-creeper swaying over his 
head, mocking the idea that it was winter, 
and that white acres of snow were lying coldly 
about his home. 

If the islands lying along the coast of 
Georgia and South Carolina, have not the 
superabundant luxuriance of the tropics, they 
are yet very gardens of greenness, bloom and 
beauty, and have few of the venomous reptiles 


350 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


and insects that abound nearer the equator. 
Happy is he, who, away from northern cold 
and storm, can spend a winter invigorated 
by the breezes from the sea, wandering day 
after day by the sunny waves, dwelling in 
one long, bright June. 

When weary of the hammock, John would 
spread a fur robe he had, in the bottom 
of the dug-out, stretch a flag for an awning 
overhead, and rock on the incoming tide, 
lulled by the soft-lapping of the waves upon 
the sand, lazily indulging in the luxury of 
dreams. There had been days when, moved 
by ambition to do and be, John had had 
little time to waste in idle dreaming; the 
demijohn had drowned his ambition, and now 
he was the mere dreamer, as nearly nothing 
in the world as man can be, he might have 
sunk slowly, unheeded, under the waves of 
life’s sea, like a paper boat, no one knowing, 
missed only by the true heart of his sister. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


351 


He at first sent the negro up the river to 
Savannah for supplies, and as mail-carrier. 
On clear ' days he could faintly discern, in 
the distance, white, shining tips of spires 
that marked the city. 

After a time, he began to think he could go 
himself. He went once to Cockspur, visited 
the fort, the fort-hospital, and made the 
acquaintance of the surgeon resident there. 
Then he went to Savannah, taking his dog 
and his negro along, and spent several hours 
wandering about the city; but, as he knew 
nobody, he merely bought some books, ether 
to kill his beetles, a box of colors, and so 
went back to his tent again. 

Again he went, leaving the negro to look 
after his possessions at Tybee, and, when he 
had gone again and had stayed all night, 
and had come home in good order every 
time, he grew quite confident in himself, and 
began to be exultant, and thought Tybee 


S52 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


lonely, and liked the looks of the city very 
well. 

He wrote to Lester, that in May he should 
go to New York, spend the summer in that 
wild, northern part of the State known as 
John Brown’s Tract, and then go home to 
his sister, and settle down for life. 

“ God grant it,” said Lester, as he read 
the letter, and laid it away in his desk. He 
replied to it; but that was the last letter 
he ever had from John. 

Meanwhile, early in March, John went to 
Savannah, bought a new shooting suit, had 
a quantity of groceries packed up, sufficient 
to last him until he went northward in May. 
He was sauntering along the streets, looking 
idly here and there, when somebody rushed 
up behind him, slapped him boisterously on 
the shoulder, cried Old boy, .how are you, 
how are you ? glad to see you, upon my honor ; 
give us your hand, John,” — and there was 
the inevitable Joe. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


353 


John was not glad to see Joe ; indeed he 
was dismayed ; he felt as if some cruel fate 
had overtaken him, as if his evil genius had 
found him out. But Joe never noticed his 
hesitation, his shrinking back, his flush of 
anger and uneasiness ; but was overwhelm- 
ingly cordial, held his hand, asked how he 
had been, where he had been, how he was, 
and what he was doing, complimented his 
appearance, and declared a dozen times he 
was glad to see him, upon his word.’’ But 
then we know Joe’s word wasn’t worth a 
straw. 

Joe fairly forced John into the parlor of 
a hotel ; here he said he wanted to compare 
notes with him, and he told some extrav- 
agant lies, with such an air of truthfulness, 
that John absolutely began to believe him; 
said he was glad to meet him, so he could 
repay him “ that little debt ; ” half pulled 
out his pocket-book as if to pay on the spot, 
and then, having wormed out of John his 


354 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


present abode and manner of life, declared, 
uninvited, that he meant to go over there and 
stop a few days with him, rest and recruit, 
and square up all old scores. He was jolly 
and witty, made John laugh, found out when 
he would be starting back, and said he 
would fly round and gather up his traps.” 

What a pity that John did not here 
escape from him. But no ; just at the moment 
of departure, Joe came on board, loaded 
■with his cloak, bag, and some other pro- 
perties not fully exhibited. John was dull 
at first, telling himself, idly, that “ all was 
of no use, the game was up ; he was doomed 
to destruction.” But Joe chatted and joked 
on, told tales, made puns, related wonder- 
ful exploits of his own in hunting and fishing, 
and at last John cast care to the winds, and 
foolishly and wickedly bade himself “ take 
matters as they came.” 

“I say, John,” cried Joe, installing him- 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


355 


self coolly as master of ceremonies, “ we’ll 
have a little reunion supper. This sea air 
gives one such an appetite, a dish of fried 
curlews and an oyster soup won’t taste 
amiss ; and I brought along a basket of fruit, 
and some other matters, to help the supper 
out.” But when John, Joe, and the negro 
had carried all the baggage to the tent, 
what the other matters ” were, was plainly 
to be seen ; a Demijohn of whiskey was one 
of them, and Joe said he meant to have a 
royal bowl of punch to drink their healths.” 
John was ready for it. King Demijohn had 
only to face John one moment, to reduce him 
to complete subjection. The negro eyed the 
whiskey askance ; he had seen “ gentlemen ” 
much the worse for the use of it. He dis- 
liked and distrusted Joe at once, and wished 
him safely back in Savannah. 

If John did not drink deeply at once, 
he did before the end of a fortnight, and 


356 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


began to go to Savannah with Joe on 
‘‘ sprees,” used up all his money — with 
Joe’s aid, got another thousand on from 
New York, and began to throw away that ; 
and indeed was drunk at Savannah, drunk 
on his Island, drunk all the time; and Joe 
had soon got several hundred of his money 
away. The old negro thought matters were 
getting serious, and resolved to have a 
letter written and sent in the envelope Sam 
had left ; but just then he saw a chance to 
take the law into his own hands, which 
looked too good to be regreted. Early one 
afternoon, John and Joe both drank so 
deeply, that both were overpowered by the 
liquor, and lay sound asleep, beyond any 
effort to awaken. The negro saw a small 
sloop lying at Cockspur Island, which he 
knew would sail for Hilton Head, that even- 
ing. He examined Joe’s wallet, and finding 
he had some money, he resolved to take him 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


357 


to the sloop, put him aboard, pay his pas- 
sage, and tell the Captain he was bound 
for Hilton Head, and ought not to lose his 
voyage on account of his intoxication- By 
this means the anxious servant thought he 
would rid Massa Stafford ” of a very bad 
companion, who was ruining him, and would 
give him a chance to recover his former 
good habits. Therefore Joe was rolled into 
a boat, and the negro put off toward Cock- 
spur. He accomplished the passage between 
the islands in safety ; but, in his anxiety to 
get Joe on the sloop and fairly off for Hilton 
Head, he did not properly secure his own 
boat, and it floated away. Great was his 
consternation; while cheered by seeing the 
sails set that were carrying off Joe, he found 
himself a prisoner on Cockspur unable to 
return to his sleeping Master John. 

One of the officers at the fort, pitying his 
distress, promised to send him over in a 


358 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


boat with some soldiers who were going 
the next afternoon, and the negro comforted 
himself with thinking that John had the 
dog, and that there was plenty of food 
cooked, and the last of the contents of the 
Demijohn had been used. Our negro was 
not above telling a lie, and he resolved to 
tell John that Joe had woke up, and request- 
ed to be taken over to Cockspur, to meet a 
vessel bound for St. Augustine. He thought 
by this means, entirely to mislead him. 
Next afternoon the absent servant was back 
at the tent. Neither John nor his dog was 
there ; they did not come at night nor next 
day. The man searched for them all over 
Tybee, went to . Savannah, and could hear 
nothing of them ; waited a fortnight, and 
still they did not return ; and then, being a 
faithful fellow, he packed up all John’s 
goods, went with them to Savannah, and 
stored them, paid himself out of the tent. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


359 


mess-chest, and such things as would not 
need to be sent to John’s northern friends, 
and dispatched a letter to Sam, with partic- 
ulars, quaintly worded. Sam wrote to a 
lawyer at Savannah to search thoroughly 
for John, and failing to find him, to send 
his valuables to New York. 

The manner of J ohn’s second disappearance 
was this. He had woke early in the morn- 
ing, after the negro had carried off Joe, 
and, missing both them and the boat, had 
concluded they were fishing or crabbing. 
He felt feverish and miserable. After a 
plunge in the sea, he dressed, called his dog, 
and strolled toward the Martello Tower. His 
walk revived him, and, when he saw a 
steamer lying at anchor about a quarter of a 
mile out, and one of her boats which had been 
at the Tower getting ready to return, he 
wondered if he might not run away from 
Joe, and get to New York. He had plenty 


360 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


of money with him, his goods must take 
their chance, and recklessly he asked where 
the steamer was going, and concluded to em- 
bark. He took his dog with him, and, finding 
the boat was bound for Charleston, resolved 
to go from thence to New York. He did not 
enjoy himself on the boat; he was restless 
and drank brandy, and felt bitterly that, 
though he could run away from Joe, he could 
not run away from himself, and his own base 
inclinings. Instead of going home from 
Charleston, as he had promised himself, 
he stayed there, drinking and rioting, until 
his funds were nearly exhausted. In a lucid 
interval, he sent to his banker at New York 
for five hundred dollars more, and continued 
his shameful career, until but one hundred 
dollars of that supply remained. Of this last 
demand on the bank his friends heard, some 
weeks later ; but could gain no farther trace 
of him. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


361 


Arousing from his dissipation, John said 
he was now completely ruined, would struggle 
no more for better things, but would go to 
destruction as fast as he could. He found his 
constitution much shattered, he had had 
another attack of delirium tremens, and 
would now not go back to disgrace his friends. 
He said he would no longer try to live like a 
gentleman, or a man of property ; what 
funds he had left should stay where they 
were, and go sometime to Agatha, who would 
make a better use of them. He would take 
his dog, and stroll along anywhere ; what 
matter how shabby he looked ? no one would 
know him, and he had fallen below all self- 
respect; by and by he would drop into a 
pauper’s grave somewhere, and that would 
be the end of it. He fastened the greater 
part of his money in a belt about his waist, 
buttoned up his shabby coat, crushed his 
shabby hat over his blood-shot eyes, to shade 


362 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


his haggard face, and, calling his dog, strolled 
out of Charleston one morning, an object of 
contempt, hating himself: And this was 
John Stafford, who might have been, who 
indeed meant to be, a man of note, a man of 
wealth and honor, a blessing to his race. 
He had fallen below all these fair expecta- 
tions, — crushed under the demijohn. On 
he walked, stopping in low taverns for lodg- 
ings, some days drinking, and some days 
remaining sober, with no one destination 
in view, drifting about through the summer, 
growing feeble and wan, very homesick ; but 
too proud or obstinate to go home, longing 
for Agatha, and feebly resolving never to 
see her again. 

Meanwhile Lester felt compelled to visit 
Agatha, and tell her all he knew of John’s 
New York life, his troubles, his resolvings, 
his temptations, and what had been learned 
of his career on Tybee. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


363 


Agatha went to New York, to see if she 
could not there find her brother. Her search 
was fruitless, he had not returned to the 
city. She even advertised him as “ missing,” 
and sent his photographs about the country, 
to aid in his recovery. The chief of police 
took more than ordinary interest in the 
search ; but nothing was effected. In fact, 
John was so changed that no description or 
photograph that was like his past self bore 
any resemblance to the wreck he had become. 
Agatha visited Mrs. Crow, heard long remi- 
niscences told with plenty of tears and a 
distracting disregard to “ h’s,” and then the 
unhappy sister took all the mementoes of her 
brother that she had found at his boarding- 
place or received from Charleston, made Mrs. 
Crow an ample present, and went home, to 
set his room in the order that he had once 
delighted in, and to entreat the Lord to send 
him to her, that he might not die among 
strangers or enemies. 


364 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


A year and a half had passed since John 
had left his native home; the long anxiety 
had worn on Agatha, and now, at the latter 
part of September, Doctor Hath way recom- 
mended a journey for the benefit of her 
health. 

Mr. Temple, Faith’s uncle, was feeble, and 
thought a trip in the clear, bracing fall 
weather might help him ; a party was there- 
fore made up of Mr. and Mrs. Temple, Faith, 
Agatha, and Doctor Hathway, to go to Niagara 
Falls ; and much enjoyment they anticipated 
from a visit of several weeks, when, unin- 
terrupted by the crowds of persons that throng 
thither in the summer, they might view, at 
their leisure, all the grand and lovely scenery 
of that favored spot. Agatha had said she 
had no heart for excursions. 

, “ You should take all care of your health,” 
said Mrs. Temple ; “ it is your duty. God 
gives us life to serve him, therefore it should 
be precious in our eyes.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


365 


‘‘ Nature’s beauties never jar on our saddest 
feelings,” said Faith. 

‘‘ Who knows,” said Doctor Hathway, ‘‘ but 
that, ill some unexpected moment, you may 
meet your brother.” 

Agatha had thought of this ; it was a hope 
to which she clung in many an hour of 
grief. 

Our travellers felt as if they were seeing 
the great cataract at the time of greatest 
beauty : the forests on the islands were 
clothed in all the dyes of the rainbow ; the 
dark green of the pine and juniper, the 
flaming red of the sumac, the maples dyed 
in crimson and gold, the oak faded to a 
sober brown, and then as by fantastic fays 
dashed with ruby and purple ; the grass and 
mosses wore yet their brightest emerald tints ; 
the leaves of the Hepatica crept among them 
like smouldering fires. In the clear morning 
sunlight, when a light, crisp frost sparkled 
over leaf and blade ; in the high noon splen- 


366 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


dors, when the day was setting over the pine- 
fringed Canadas in such glories as flame 
over the boastful Mediterranean Sea; when 
the moon led out the serried ranks of stars 
for nightly evolutions, — Agatha and Faith 
watched the rushing waters, the white rapids, 
tlie rising mists ; with reverent love, dwelt 
on the works of God in nature, and by these 
lower strings reached upward to the marvels 
of his grace. 

There is, on the bank of the Niagara, a 
few miles below the Falls, a remarkable re- 
cess of some considerable extent, guarded 
by an immense flat rock, filled with trees, 
flowers, moss-covered boulders, and trailing 
vines, a place knowing no scorching summer 
heats, sheltered from the keen blasts of win- 
ter, where flowers bloom in early February, 
and yet having a secret cave where ice defies 
the blaze of hot July. 

In this recess, the Indians said the spirit 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


367 


of all evil had his abode ; we trust he never 
knew so fair a home. Long flights of steps 
have been placed leading down into this 
retreat, and ropes stretched from them, hither 
and thither, that strangers may not be lost 
in the mazes of the spot. One can wander 
out to great rocks that stand in the blue 
waters of the river, and where experts go 
to spear the huge sturgeon, the river king. 

Hither one day went our party, bringing 
a lunch to eat in the sunshine on Table Rock, 
and expecting to spend several hours in ex- 
ploring “ The Hole.’’ 

Having descended the step-ladders, Agatha 
got a little in advance of her party, and, 
following the guidance of the ropes and the 
sound of roaring water, wandered down the 
wild and shadowed descent, until, where trees 
and brushes parted, she reached a mass of 
stone, and saw the river in its majesty at 
her feet. Gazing, delighted, at the tossing. 


868 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


white-capped waves, and the beauty of the 
opposite shore, seeing here and there some 
strong-winged and loud-voiced bird, darting 
and screaming up and down in the solitude, 
Agatha was not aware that there was any one 
nearer her than her friends whose voices 
came down to her, making low music through 
the stillness ; presently she saw, sitting on 
the rocks almost below her, at a place where 
the fishers went to spear sturgeon, a man in 
shabby clothes, his cap lying by his side, a 
huge dog with drooped ears and tail, his nose 
resting on his master’s shoulder, standing 
just behind him. The figure and posture 
of the stranger indicated feebleness and de- 
spondency. Agatha, started and drew back, 
intending to return along the path to her 
friends ; but there was something in the close 
light curls, as a beam of sunlight fell across 
the man’s bowed head, that made her stop 
and look again. She was holding to the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


369 


drooping branch of a tree, looking half over 
her shoulder as she had turned to go, and, 
as she checked herself and looked back, a 
bit of moss and stone slipped from beneath 
her foot and rattled to the stones below ; 
the dog growled, the man turned quickly, — 
a shabby man, with sunken cheeks and 
deathly brow, unshaven chin and hollow 
chest, a wreck of man ; and yet, looking into 
Agatha’s face were eyes that had smiled on 
her in infant glee, — eyes that she had watched 
slowly closing, lulled by her songs into child- 
ish sleep, — eyes that had wept when she had 
wept over two open coffins, and two new-made 
graves. 

Slowly Agatha let go the swaying larch 
limb ; slowly, stilled by a mingled rush of joy 
and pain, she stepped from the rock to the 
path, and reached the pallid, shrinking, half- 
terrified wanderer. She placed her hands 
on his shoulders, bowed over the face he had 


370 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


hidden in bitter shame. “ John, John ! ” — 
he groaned as in agony ; his dog laid his 
head against his knee and whined. ‘‘ Oh, 
my brother, my brother ! ” and now great 
drops were trickling through John’s shrunken 
fingers. The dog pressed close to Agatha, 
and licked her gloved hand. 

The Temples and Doctor Hathway now 
came down the path, and catching a glimpse 
of Agatha, and her strange companion, 
drew back. They knew Agatha had found 
her brother. 

John,” said Agatha, “ you are sick.” 

John made no reply ; not a word had he 
spoken yet. 

“You have wandered about long enough, 
poor boy,” said Agatha, “ and made me 
unhappy enough, because I could not find 
you ; that is all over now. You are going 
home with me ; we will go to-morrow.” 

“I cannot see anybody,” cried John ner- 



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JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


371 


vously ; such a wreck and wretch as I 
am.” 

“ You shall see nobody but Doctor Hath- 
way,” said Agatha ; “ we will go quietly to 
the hotel ; the carriage is up above, and 
you can have your meals in your room, 
and to-morrow you will be yourself, John, 
and we will go home together. You shall 
never leave me again.” 

“ Yes, I shall leave you, soon, forever,” 
said John. 

Tears blinded Agatha’s eyes for a mo- 
ment, but she answered, cheerily, “I shall 
not believe that, John, dear. Now I will 
call the Doctor;” and she sent a clear 
challenge up the path, which was answered 
by the familiar voice of the old physician. 

Doctor, we’ll just stroll off down this 
other path, and if you want the carriage, 
go back to the hotel in it, and send it after 
us,” said Mr. Temple, quickly. 


372 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


The Doctor met John in a frank, matter- 
of-fact way, saying he was glad to see him, 
sorry to find him sick, but all would be 
right now, with Agatha to look after him. 
The carriage was in the road just above, 
and then, as John meekly rose and prepared 
to accompany them, the Doctor added, 
“ John, lad, I’m too fat to climb a ladder in 
a cloak ; it will weigh less on your shoulders 
than on mine and so he threw his water- 
proof cloak over John, and hid his soiled, 
shabby clothes. They went up to the road, 
the dog following them with leaps, sniffs, 
and short yelps of delight. 

Doctor Hathway took John to his room 
at the hotel, and then went to a tailor’s for 
a suitable wardrobe for him. Meanwhile, 
Agatha, ever accustomed to self-repression, 
dressed for dinner, and prepared to meet 
her friends, who, good souls, only expressed 
their cordial sympathy by a warm clasp of 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


373 


her hand, and asked no question, spoke no 
surprise. What a beautiful thing it is to 
know when to be silent ! 

When Doctor Hathway had, by aid of 
tailor, boot-maker and barber, got up his 
patient to his mind, he sent for Agatha. 
John looked much his former self, but 
showed his feebleness and the • ravages of 
disease, even more plainly than while sit- 
ting on the rocks by a river. Agatha kissed 
him, and then examined his outfit to see if 
it was to her mind. The fine broadcloth, 
the shining linen, — the jaunty neck-tie, — 
and the well-fitted boots, suited her very 
well. She noted one lack, which next morn- 
ing John found supplied, a watch and chain 
lying on his dressing-table in their morocco 
case. He could not make up his mind 
to face the Temples then, so, with Agatha, 
he took his meals in his room, and it was 
arranged that next morning the Doctor 


374 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


should accompany them home, leaving their 
three friends to return at their own con- 
venience. 

“ The poor lad is in a settled consumption,’’ 
said Doctor Hathway that evening to Mr. 
Temple. 

“ Bless me ! what a pity ; what a loss ! He 
was a very smart fellow, and, with every 
advantage, it seemed as if he could liardly 
help making his mark in the world,” ex- 
claimed Mr. Temple. 

“ It is whiskey, all whiskey, that is to be 
blamed for it. The Demijohn has ruined 
him completely. Dear, dear ! what a waste 
of money and brains and life it has been ! ” 
said the doctor.. 

Before Agatha left John that night, she 
exacted from him a promise that he would 
not run away from her again. 

I shall never leave you voluntarily,” said 
John, sadly. “ I am only too glad to be with 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


3T5 


you, to have some rest ; to feel that somebody 
cares for me. My home looks very beautiful 
to me now. I only ask to stay there until I 
die.” 

Next morning, Agatha, the doctor, and 
John left Niagara. The Temples saw them 
getting into the carriage, and thought how 
differently the well-dressed young man looked 
from the wan stranger, of whom the day 
before they had had a glimpse on the rocks by 
the river. The only thing in common, was 
the huge, savage-looking dog, which was still 
following its master, gentle enough to him 
and to his friends. 

‘‘ This, Agatha,” said John, as he stroked 
the rough head of the monster, “ is the only 
friend I have had for many months.” And 
the dog was soon as true a friend to Agatha 
as to John. 

Once more John was in his early home. 
Tears of gratitude and affection filled his 


376 JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 

eyes, as he found his own room arranged 
exactly as it had been years before ; his 
favorite possessions all in their places ; his 
best-loved books laid on the table, and, among 
his other specimens, the collections .he had 
made on Tybee Island duly set forth. 

Sara had filled with flowers the vases on 
John’s mantel. ‘‘ He do look most dreadful 
bad,” she said privately to Nick. 

Some of their old friends came to see John ; 
but he was shy and distant, and showed great 
repugnance to society. All he wanted was to 
be alone with Agatha ; her presence was 
restful to him, her reading and singing 
soothed him ; he knew that, much as he 
deserved condemnation, she never dwelt upon 
his faults, or remembered his errors against 
him. He was weaker than any one im- 
agined ; the only exercise which he desired, 
was to walk slowly about the garden, watch- 
ing Nick transplant shrubbery, tie up tender 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


377 


bushes in bundles of straw, arid prepare the 
flower-beds and borders for the ensuing 
spring. As he looked on these gardening 
operations, he wondered if, when hyacinth and 
daffodil shook out their petals to the sun, 
when crocus and primrose blossomed, and 
silver or golden stars gleamed on the jesa- 
mine spray, he should be there to welcome 
them, or laid, as soon must be, under the 
brown earth in that hill-side burying-ground, 
where so many of his kindred were already 
sleeping ; and many, alas ! laid there by the 
curse more fatal than pestilence, fire, or 
sword, — the curse of rum, the let-loose 
horrors of the demijohn. 






Ii. 'hd'i*': _L) •, ^ ; ’ 

M W A 


*•- ‘ ’*1 ■• * ' ' 




CHAPTER X. 


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CHAPTER X. 

WU (!5n4 i^mmt i0 §enttL 

1'^ HE November 
sun looked 
into Agatha 
Stafford’s 
pleasant 
breakfast- 
room. The 
table, d u 1 y 
spread for 
two, was not 
far from the 
grate, with 
its blazing fire. The silver breakfast service, 

381 



382 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


that had belonged to Agatha’s grandmother, 
shone in sunlight and firelight, and, touched 
by a golden ray, the glass on the sideboard 
cast rainbows upon the wall ; and, alas ! on 
the sideboard were not only tumblers and 
water-pitcher and egg glasses, but a decan- 
ter of brandy and two little goblets, set be- 
fore it, on a tray. Agatha came in, fresh 
as the new-begun day, and rung for toast, 
coffee, and eggs. As she stood near the 
table, putting those things straight which 
Sara, was forever getting a hair’s breadth 
crooked, John entered the door. He looked 
older now than Agatha ; his step was slow 
and shuffling, his shoulders drooped, his thin 
face was of a deathlike pallor. He went 
straight to the sideboard, poured out and 
drank a glass of brandy. In a few minutes, 
his eyes grew brighter, his head was better 
held up, and, as Sara set the last cover 
upon the table, he came round, and said 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


383 


Good morning ” to Agatha, quite like him- 
self. 

When John had had his breakfast, and 
was lying comfortably on the lounge, and 
Agatha had been reading the paper to him 
while Sara carried away the breakfast equi- 
page, and now, at last, the brother and sister 
were alone, Agatha said, “ John, had you 
not better let me send that decanter off, 
and make one final effort to get rid of your 
besetting sin ? ” 

‘‘ You needn’t be afraid of my going any 
farther than I am now,” said John, — “that 
is, to take one good strong glass each morn- 
ing ; it is a physical impossibility that I 
should. Whenever I have been ill, the thirst 
for liquor leaves me : as I get feebler now, I 
shall crave less and less. I take that brandy 
just because I feel used up and half dead. 
Until I do take it, I cannot eat, and can 
hardly drag myself about. By and by, I will 


384 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


not feel well enough for one glass of brandy, 
and then you will not be troubled by seeing 
me take it.” 

“ But why not give it up, and get well 
altogether ? ” 

“ Because I can’t get well ; it is absurd 
to talk about it. I haven’t more than half 
a lung left, and I ought not to have. Con- 
sumption is the legitimate end of such a 
course of drunkenness as mine. I knew it 
all the time, and yet I drank. How can 
you endure me, Agatha? I hate myself!” 

‘‘ I should think you would loathe the sight 
of the drink that has done you so much harm, 
and never taste it again,” cried Agatha. 

“ I need the stimulus ; I’m a mere nobody 
until I get it. As I told you, I won’t be able 
to take it much longer.” 

“Don’t give up so, John, dear; try and 
get well, you are so young. Don’t you get 
stronger ? Doctor Hathway said you looked 
brighter yesterday.” 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


385 


“ I know my symptoms as well as he does,” 
said John. ‘‘ I can’t last much longer ; and, 
Agatha, if you were not a saint upon earth, 
you would be glad to be rid of one who 
has always been your chief torment.” 

Agatha left the room, in tears. She went 
to the library, and, taking out her writing- 
desk, penned a letter to Lester. She asked 
him to come and see her brother. “ Your 
society will cheer him,” she wrote. “ and 
you may be able to help him. You are 
versed in all new remedies and expedients, 
and have had wide experience in your hos- 
pital practice. Doctor Hathway is kind and 
careful ; but he may be behind these times 
of improvement. I cannot give John up: 
he must recover and retrieve the past.” 

John had already told Agatha his history, 
from the time he secretly left home, until he 
reached Charleston. He said he wanted her 
to know all his wanderings, all his tempta- 
tions ; it was a relief, when the memories of 


386 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


the dark . past pressed heavily upon his heart, 
to pour them out into her ear, knowing that 
she was not quick to condemn, but would 
much extenuate, and, where judgment must 
be stern, like a guardian angel, would temper 
with a tear. 

Agatha was sitting in the bay window by 
her work-stand, John in a reclining chair, 
well covered with an afghan, and, his head 
supported on soft, snow-white pillows, looked 
very comfortable for an invalid. 

“ I shall tell you the rest of my miserable 
story to-day, Agatha. I don’t feel very tired, 
and I can talk that much. When I left 
Charleston, I thought I had given up every- 
thing in despair, and never expected to be 
any better ; but after all I had not ; and, as 
I wandered up into North Carolina, I began 
to think to myself that I had tried abstaining, 
tried shutting myself up on an island away 
from liquor, tried the pledge, and all had 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


387 


failed ; and that, as confectioner’s clerks get 
tired of candies by seeing it about them all 
the time, so I might nauseate myself of 
liquor, if I stopped just where it was. I put 
up at a hotel in a little town, a small hotel, 
where prodigious amounts of liquor were sold, 
and, after a while, I offered myself to the 
landlord as bar-keeper, and he accepted my 
service ; and, for two months, I tried whether 
pouring out, mixing, and tasting poison all 
the time, would cure me of my passion. But 
no : I grew worse and worse, and then, from 
the heat, fell into a fever, and the landlord 
treated me like a dog. Ah, Agatha, lying in 
that bare, poor room, grudgingly waited on 
by strangers, I thought of all the luxuries and 
comforts of the home from which I had made 
myself an exile, and I would start from 
feverish dreams, thinking I felt your hand 
on my hot head, or your voice in my ear. 
Sometimes I wished I would die, and never 


388 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


trouble or disgrace you again : sometimes I 
wanted to get well, and go home ; but when 
I did get able to escape from that house of- 
harpies, I was ashamed to go back to you, 
such a broken-down prodigal. ‘ I went up 
through Virginia, and finally I struck the 
Ohio River, and worked my way down to 
Cincinnati on a boat. Then I used nearly all 
my remaining money, acting like a fool in 
Cincinnati, and started to work my way to 
Cleveland. It was easy to get to Buffalo on 
the lake, and then I was possessed to go to 
Niagara Falls, because I remembered going 
there once with you and father and mother 
when I was a happy little boy, with a bright 
future before me, and no thought of being 
such a shabby vagabond as I came to be. I 
had been strolling about there nearly a fort- 
night when you found me somehow.” 

Found you by the good guiding of Provi- 
dence, in special answer to my prayers,” said 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


389 


Agatlia. ‘‘ Oh, John, you must see the hand 
of God in that. I had looked for you so 
often in busy, noisy crowds, on cars and 
boats, and in hotels ; but never thought to 
find you in such a solitude as that.” 

“ It was because it was a solitude that I 
went there. You remember, Agatha, the 
wild legends of the Indians, that those who 
ventured down there all alone were carried 
off by spirits, and were seen no more. When 
I went down to those lonely rocks, and sat 
watching the mad river at my feet, I kept 
wishing that some sprite of river or of earth 
would carry me away, and that J ohn Stafford, 
enemy to himself and all his friends, John, 
the drunken vagabond, would come up no 
more.” 

Well, no vagabond did come up,” said 
Agatha, looking closely at a sheaf of wheat 
which she was embroidering : it was Doctor 
Stafford, my brother, and a gentleman, who 
came up.” 


390 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Well, well, however it may be for me, 
I know, instead of the water-sprite, it was 
the kind guardian and much-abused friend 
of all my life, who took my hand, and led 
me into civilization — to die — as I have 
not lived — decently.” 

“ I won’t hear that, John,” said Agatha ; 
“ I will not hear of your dying now. I can- 
not, because you are not prepared to dieP 
She looked him firmly, anxiously in the 
face. 

“ Don’t talk to me of that, Agatha,” said 
John ; ‘‘ you don’t know how liquor ruins 
souls as it does bodies. I believe it has 
burnt up all my sense of honor and decency, 
and any spiritual perceptions I may have 
had.” 

“ I won’t believe it,” cried Agatha ; “ you 
have spiritual perception enough to see two 
things, — the only things you need to see. 
You mu%t see them ; you are a sinner, and 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


391 


Christ can be your Saviour. John, John, 
you can see that as long as you have any 
reason or heart left.’’ 

“ Let me alone, Agatha ; I’m sleepy. I 
have told you all I have to tell. There now, 
dear, don’t trouble me any more, and I’m 
not worth your worrying about.” 

John turned away, shut his eyes, and 
pulled the corner of the afghan over his 
face. Agatha presently closed the inside 
blinds, and left him ; her burden had grown 
too heavy for her to carry any longer, and 
she must go and lay it at the feet of Jesus, 
— the burden-bearer of all his people. 

A letter from Lester was soon followed 
by that good friend himself. When he 
came, as the afternoon was mild and sunny, 
John was taking a turn on the piazza ; he 
knew that Lester was coming, but as his 
friend grasped his hand, a flush of shame, 
a sharp pang of remorse passed over him, as 


392 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


he contrasted his own broken, disgraced 
unhappy condition, with the buoyant health, 
the cheerful spirit, the honorable position 
of his college friend, with whom he had 
often boasted he should be more than even 
in the race of life. That evening, when 
John had gone to his bed, very soon after 
tea, as now in his weakness was his custom, 
Lester told Agatha, that he trusted much to 
regular habits, excellent care, judicious 
medical attendance, and his youth, to restore 
John to health. But after a visit of several 
days, a close examination of his patient and 
consultations with Doctor Hathway, he saw 
reason to change his mind, and reluctantly 
told the anxious sister, that John had but 
a short time to live. “ I can do nothing to 
help him,” said Lester. 

Agatha, as Lester spoke, had been looking 
steadily from the window, her hands clasped 
tightly together, and her face nearly as 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


893 


white as the light fall of snow that wreathed 
the trees, and lay a light robe over the 
lately bare earth. She turned slowly toward 
Lester. ‘‘He will not hear a word on the 
subject of religion,” she said, huskily. “ I 
have no hope for him ; he has made no 
peace with God, and he cares for none of 
these things.” 

“ I will talk with him, both as physician 
and friend,” said Lester. “ We, you know, 
may plant and water ; you also know who 
only giveth increase.” 

Lester had a long and serious conversa- 
tion with John. 

“ I made a wrong choice years ago,” said 
John. “ Don’t you remember, Lester, how 
you used to talk to me ? Your course has 
proved, that godliness is profitable for all 
things, both for the life that now is, and 
that which is to come.’ As for me, I have 
chosen ‘ Death rather than Life ; ’ it is no 


394 


JOHN AND THE , DEMIJOHN. 


more than right, Lester, that each separate 
choice should hold good.” 

^‘John, John,” said Lester, grasping his 
sick friend’s hand, “how can you talk so 
coolly of such terrible, such mighty in- 
terests ! ” 

“ You’ve no idea what an apathy drunken- 
ness breeds,” said John, settling himself back 
on his pillow. “ I’m a body of death sure 
enough, a vital tomb of all 'good emotions. 
I ought to be ready to fall down and worship 
Agatha ; but how sluggish and selfish are my 
feelings ! I have forgotten to blush at my 
mother’s grave. I loved Faith Temple once. 
I think now I can only be glad that I was 
not permitted to make her life miserable. 
All I ask is to be let alone. To me, Lester, 
the argument in the Apocrypha is true : 
Wine is stronger than wit, woman, or the 
king. There is a ‘Woe’ pronounced in 
Scripture to them that ‘ rise up early in the 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


395 


morning, that they may follow strong drink, 
that they may continue until night, until wine 
inflame them : ’ that ‘ woe ’ has followed hard 
after me, has overtaken me, has destroyed 
me.’’ 

‘‘ It is not yet too late for better things,” 
said Lester : ‘‘ pray for a genuine, hearty pen- 
itence.” 

“ I do not know what the penitence is, 
and I do not know how to pray,” said John, 
stubbornly. 

Lester had gone. Agatha could not make 
any impression on John by anything she 
might say. He passively allowed her to read 
the Bible to him daily, an(L sometimes turned 
over its pages himself. One day he read 
aloud the passage, “ Awake, ye drunkards ; 
and weep and howl, all ye drinkers of wine.” 

“ Agatha,” he said, “ I wish every drunkard 
on the face of the broad earth could be brought 
to howl out the horrors he feels, until the voice 


396 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


of their weeping should fill the world, and 
rise up to Heaven, such a doleful, most mis- 
erable crying as would frighten every human 
being from wine and strong drink. What 
a curse and ruin it is everywhere ! The 
demon of the demijohn is the veriest fiend 
of all the myriads over which Satan reigiis.” 

Agatha said nothing ; but John interpreted 
her looks. 

‘^You wonder why, thinking thus, I still 
take my morning brandy. Only because my 
ruin is complete. I can be hurt no more. 
I am in that deepest deep beneath the 
deep.” 

“ It can hurt you,” said Agatha : “ it may 
harden your heart, and close your ears to 
words of eternal life.” 

John turned away as he usually did, and 
there was a long silence. Finally he broke 
out, — 

‘‘ Agatha, when I am dead, if you do jus- 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


397 


tice by my grave, you will put on it that 
accursed demijohn which has poisoned, 
blighted, crushed, destroyed me ! ” 

‘‘John,” said Agatha, “ I wish you would 
see a minister. You tell me you are dying, 
and yet you will allow no minister of God 
to come to you. See one for my sake, if not 
for your own.” 

“ I cannot see one,” cried John. “ Your 
minister is a stranger to me. He cannot care 
for me ; he cannot feel anything but studied 
interest in me. He will come here and look 
on me as a monster of iniquity. He has 
heard tales enough of John Stafford. I feel 
an unutterable horror of strangers ; their 
faces and voices are agony to me. I shrink 
from their presence as from coals of fire.” 

“ There is one who is no stranger,” said 
Agatha; “one you will not shrink from, — 
that is Sam. I shall write to him this very 
day.” 


398 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


John made no objection, and so his old 
room-mate was written to, to come and min- 
ister at his dying bed. 

Sam came readily. He had for John 
almost that tenderness that Agatha felt. 
He knew the unhappy softness and pliability 
of his disposition, the thirst he claimed to 
have inherited. As he recalled the noble, 
earnest boy, whose genius and scholarship 
and good-nature he had envied, Sam could 
have wept. 

Sam remained several weeks. During his 
stay, John banished the decanter of brandy, 
and much of his asperity and suspicion 
melted away. Thereafter, he heard relig- 
ious conversation and exhortation in silence, 
and without assuming either weariness or 
sleep. One morning, Agatha came into his 
room — for now he was a prisoner in his 
own apartment — when she knew that Sam 
had been reading and praying with him. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


399 


John caught her earnest, longing, entreat- 
ing gaze. He took her hand. “ Ah, Agatha, 
can a clean thing come out of an unclean ? 
Can the leopard change his spots, the Ethio- 
pian his skin ? Can the dregs in the lamp 
of life burn up with a clear, strong light ? 
Shall a tossed, broken, dismantled wreck, 
which the sea rejects as too mean for a prize, 
enter a harbor like a good ship coming home 
from prosperous voyages ? You have hoped 
too much for me, Agatha. It is the old 
story. How often do women hope too much 
from poor, erring foolish men ? ” 

He spoke lightly, and Agatha was sick at 
heart. 

The night before Sam left, he handed 
Agatha the last paper from the city, point- 
ing to a certain paragraph. It contained 
the fate of Joe. He had been shot dead 
in a drunken brawl, in a gambling saloon 
in New Orleans. 


400 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


March came, cloudy and rainy ; fevers were 
abroad, the town lay under the shadows of 
death. Many, besides Agatha, were watch- 
ing by dying beds. 

Mrs. Temple is going to die,” said Dr. 
Hathway to Agatha, as, one evening, he had 
come to see John. He came more for form’s 
sake than anything else : his patient was 
beyond all helping. He was bolstered up 
in his bed, day and night, his shrunken 
hands clasped over the white counterpane, 
speaking little, apparently suffering little, 
physically. He had said nothing about Joe; 
but now, when the doctor spoke of Mrs. 
Temple, John looked up at liis sister. 

Joe’s dead, too. I used to think him 
my friend, then my worst enemy ; but my 
worst enemy has been myself. I remember 
when I tried to out-drink him, — just a lively 
boy, then. Oh, if boys would only take warn- 
ing by us two ! Sam and Lester, now in 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


401 


their prime, just for making good choice and 
right start, then. Joe dead in dishonor, and 
I’ll go next. I could stand a little more 
than he could ; but not much, and we’ll both 
be gone under, to a demijohn.” 

Agatha went, once or twice, to see her 
sick neighbor ; but soon, John grew too ill 
to be left, and Mrs. Temple died and was 
buried : and word came that Mr. Temple 
was very sick, and Agatha could not go to 
comfort Faith, though their houses were not 
far apart. 

Doctor Hathway came, another evening, 
and now his news was that Mr. Temple was 
dead. 

“ I’ll sit with John while you go get your 
tea, Agatha,” said the doctor. It was almost 
April, and there had been a sunshine, for a 
variety, and now the mellow moonlight vied 
in beauty with the buried day, — the day 
that had gone down in loveliness, and was 
buried in the sea. 


402 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


As Agatha made a pretence of eating her 
solitary meal, a light step came behind her, 
and Faith Temple’s hand was laid on her 
shoulder. Amid her own sorrow, Agatha 
had pity to give to this lonely girl, orphaned 
a second time in her short life. Faith was 
dressed in mourning for her aunt. She drew 
a chair to Agatha’s side, saying, I knew 
you could not come to me, and so I came 
to you. Your last relative is dying, and 
mine is dead. It is so dreary over there, 
now, with the thought of uncle, who was 
always so kind and true, lying silent there, 
never to speak to me again.” 

Agatha thought how much happier her 
life and Faith’s might have been, had it not 
been for the blight of the demijohn. 

“ I can only stay a moment,” said Faith. 
“ It has been many years since I could come 
to your house, Agatha, to rejoice with those 
who rejoiced ; but God has taught me to 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


403 


“ weep with those that weep/’ and in all our 
own unhappiness, we can remember that the 
miseries of many more can fill our lives with 
labor and works of charity. My life seems to 
have been very idle. Why have I not done 
more to relieve the suffering of which there 
is so much? Only, perhaps, because I had 
not learned what it was by my own expe- 
rience.” 

The friends talked for a few minutes 
longer ; then Agatha walked part way home 
with Faith in the soft, pure moonlight. Her 
heart was comforted by thinking how, into the 
darkest night of sorrow, God is able to send 
light. 

“ That is a very unfortunate thing about 
Temple,” said Doctor Hath way, a week later : 
“ his affairs were so involved, that he hardly 
left anything to Faith ; even the house is 
gone, and the poor child has been used to 
every luxury.” 


404 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Agatha was so engrossed in her cares for 
John, that she hardly noticed what the doctor 
was saying. 

“ Open the west » window, Agatha,’’ said 
John, on the evening of a fitful April day. 
Agatha threw the shutters apart. 

“ The sun is going down in clouds ; it will 
storm to-morrow. It will be lonely to-morrow 
for you. What a care and trouble I have 
been to you, Aga. Don’t you wish I had 
never been born to distress you?” 

Agatha’s heart was too full to answer; 
she hid her face in the curtain of the window 
by which she stood. 

Only twenty-eight,” said John, “ only 
twenty-eight ; and, Agatha, I had thought to 
live until life’s almond blossomed white, and 
1 could go to my grave full of days and of 
lionors.” 

Still no answer from the broken-hearted 
watcher by the window. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


405 


“ Hamilcar made Hannibal swear eternal 
enmity to Home. If I had a son, here by my 
dying bed, he should swear eternal enmity 
to alcohol. I am going fast, Agatha: if I 
do not see morning, remember that I have 
looked back on my life with bitter grief and 
shame. I cry, ‘ I have sinned, I have 
sinned ! ’ ” 

And Jiowy in what spirit, do you cry ? ’’ 
asked Agatha, hastening to his side. 

“ I cannot tell you. Pharaoh, Saul, Judas, 
David, all cried, ‘ I have sinned,’ some in 
one way, some in another. If you knew what 
a hard, deceitful heart I have, Agatha, you 
would not ask for my judgment of myself. 
I feel drowsy, and I would like you to read 
to me once more.” 

Agatha took her Bible, turned to that 
golden chapter, the second of Ephesians, and 
in a clear, steady voice, began to read, — 

‘‘ And you hath he quickened, wlio were 


.406 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


dead in trespasses and sins.” And one by 
one, like jewels beyond all cost, fell from her 
lips the good words unto the end. 

“At midnight there was a cry heard, — 
‘ Behold the Bridegroom cometh ; go ye forth 
to meet him.’ ” 

How went John Stafford forth ? Who can 
tell? Was there no oil of divine grace and 
love in his lamp ? or had it kindled to a little 
flame to meet the Heavenly Bridegroom’s 
eye? 

When morning came royally from the pur- 
ple east, it looked upon Agatha lying in a 
heavy slumber of exhaustion, after the long 
months of her patient watching. The dear 
object of her cares, needing them no longer, 
was wrapped for his coffined sleep. “ Behold 
her house was left unto her desolate.” 

Not many days thereafter, Agatha, at the 
close of the afternoon, went with Nick to 
the cemetery to a new-made grave. On the 
stone at its head was carved. 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


407 


JOHN STAFFORD. 

JE,t. 28. 

Nick planted a root of myrtle, hope’s blue 
flower, on the bare mould, and left Agatha 
musing by her dead alone. 

Agatha was thirty-eight; she had lived 
long enough for the romance to wear from 
life, long enough to suffer much, long enough 
to learn that there is one thing worth living 
for, — the work of the Lord. 

Not far from her were two new-made 
graves, and Faith Temple sat by them un- 
seen. She came to Agatha at last, and took 
her hand ; they stood silent a little while, 
then Faith yielded to the grief of years, and 
bowed lier head upon the white stone with 
bitter throbbing. 

It soothed Agatha to know there was some 
one beside herself, who thought her brother 
worth the tribute of a tear. 

“ Faith,” she said, clasping her arm around 
her friend, “I want you for a sister now. 


408 


JOHN AND THE DEMIJOHN. 


Your home is lonely, so is mine ; but I am 
too old to change and come to you. Come 
live with me, Faith; let us spend our lives 
together.” 

And then homeward — toward a home they 
were to share together — went Faith and 
Agatha, two women who had suffered sorely, 
yet were strong to endure and labor as the 
Lord should send. 





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